


Thick and Thin

by Gaylagher



Series: The Story of Blue and Ginger [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaylagher/pseuds/Gaylagher
Summary: this takes place the day of monica's funeral.heads up: rape is mentioned in this chapter. it starts right after "He talked about how Monica and he met" so if you're sensitive to that, skip to "my pilot light was out"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place the day of monica's funeral. 
> 
> heads up: rape is mentioned in this chapter. it starts right after "He talked about how Monica and he met" so if you're sensitive to that, skip to "my pilot light was out"

“You have a pound of meth?” Blue inquired, “and you’re seriously considering selling it?”

“Yeah,” Ian confirmed, pulling on a black shirt. “Ay, don’t be judgmental. Your job is running guns, for fuck’s sake.” He sighed. “Ten grand’s a lot of money, Mick. We can get an apartment of our own. Blow more money on our wedding. Or we could save the money and spend it when we need to.”

Blue gnawed on his lower lip. “We can’t—” Blue started but was silenced by Ian’s lips pressed against his own. The room melted away and all Ian could focus on was Blue’s lips, Blue’s tongue against his, the taste of him; Blue.

The shorter man peeled his lips off of Ian’s. “You’re not gonna do shit with the meth until I say otherwise.” Ian sighed again, knowing that he’d cave in sooner or later.

“Fine.”

Blue gave Ian a chaste kiss before putting his black dress shirt on. The shirt hugged him in all the right places, making his milky skin and bright cerulean eyes stand out against the raven hair, black jeans and black shirt. Ian didn’t understand how someone can make black look so good.

“Stop fucking gawking at me and let’s go,” Blue smirked and grabbed his ring, slipping it on. Both men walked to the mortuary. Fiona was there, talking to a middle-aged woman. “We’re fucking early.”

“We’re on time,” Ian argued. Two men were taking chairs away, but Ian wasn’t paying attention to anything else. His eyes were trained on the picture of Monica; beaming, eyes shining with happiness. “Wow.”

Blue looked at over at the picture. “Yeah,” he agreed. Ian swallowed the lump of emotions building up in his throat. Blue’s hand rubbed small circles on Ian’s lower back.

People slowly strolled in, and took their seats. Everything felt surreal; like this was an illusion, as if it would flicker slightly if Ian touched the casket. Monica’s eyes were closed. If you ignored the lack of colour on her lips and the paleness of her skin, you’d think she was sleeping.

Ian could feel himself slowly retreat back to his cave, feel the cloak of numbness over him. He focused on Blue’s hand on his thigh while they were sitting next to each other, relish in the electricity surging through him at the small gesture.

Debbie got up to the front, talking about their fond memories of their mother, sometimes eliciting a chuckle from the crowd. Blue’s hand would sometimes rub Ian’s thigh soothingly, trying to comfort his fiancé but not knowing how to.

When Debbie sat back down, Ian got up, taking a deep breath and made his way to the front. He touched the casket and peered at Monica, the scene not flickering like he expected it to. This was happening. she died and Ian was standing awkwardly in front of her body. Faces were staring back at Ian when he turned to look at them; some looked at him knowingly, others looking at him blankly while silently commiserating him. Only one face mattered to him. Ian’s eyes traveled to bright sapphire orbs, and Blue gave him a small smile, nodding once, silently urging Ian to commence.

“Monica was.. well, she was accepting,” Ian began, “when she found out about my sexuality, she told me that it was nothing to be ashamed of. That I couldn’t change who I was. She even took me to my first gay club. She was.. impulsive. Her impulsivity is what caused her to come and go in our lives.

“There was never a dull moment with her. She always knew how to have fun, and she always lived her life to the fullest.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “In her own twisted way, she cared about us. All of us. She always came back, even if it was for a short while.” He patted the casket, and glanced at Monica again, hating how the words clumsily tumbled out of his mouth, hating how he wasn’t an expert with wording things. “I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I’m gonna miss her and her antics.” He swallowed down the rock lodged in his throat as he took his seat next to Blue.

Lip got up next to talk about their deceased mother followed by Carl and Fiona. People hesitantly got up, when Frank stopped them, getting them to sit back down to listen to his speech. He talked about how Monica and he met, which had Ian glancing at Grandpa Bill when Frank mentioned rape.

“My pilot light was out and Monica was the gas company,” Frank smiled slightly. Ian swallowed hard and grabbed Blue’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Blue’s thumb rubbed against the back of Ian’s hand. Nothing else Frank said registered with Ian.

Blue was Ian’s gas company. Blue had given Ian a purpose to live, to push through when all Ian wanted to do was give up. Blue had stayed, held Ian when Ian relapsed, stayed when everyone left. He saw past Ian’s mental illness and fucked up life. He saw Ian’s true colours that Ian hid from everyone else. Ian's pilot light was out, and Blue was the gas company.

 

***************

“Come dance with me,” Ian urged to the tipsy Blue. Ian dragged Blue to the party with the promise of alcohol, while simultaneously pulling the “I’m really gonna miss my baby” card.

“I don’t dance,” Blue shook his head.

“What _do_ you do at parties?”

“Get shitfaced.”

“Don’t get too drunk,” Ian informed him and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna need your dick to be properly workin’ later tonight.” Blue grinned at Ian’s words as Ian lightly trapped the older man's earlobe between his teeth and pulled a bit before letting go of it.

“Oh yeah?” Blue pulled away to look at his fiancé, and bit his lip when Ian started to lean in.

“Mhm,” Ian replied before slotting their lips together. Blue nipped at Ian’s lower lip and Ian opened his mouth, letting Blue slide his tongue inside Ian’s mouth. Blue tasted like rum and coke, gliding his tongue along Ian’s.

“You guys gonna spend the party with your tongue in each other’s mouths?” Fiona teased, and Ian peeled his lips off of Blue’s.

“That’s the plan,” Ian joked and proceeded to try to stick his tongue in Blue’s mouth, only to lick his lips and cheek as Blue turned his head away.

“Gross fuck,” Blue chuckled, wiping the spit away with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna go take a leak, I’ll be right back.” He gave Ian a chaste kiss before walking to the bathroom. Fiona took that as an invitation to walk over to Ian, and Ian smiled at her before taking a sip of his root beer.

“Hard not bein’ able to drink, huh?” Fiona inquired.

“I’ve adjusted,” Ian replied. “My blood is more important to me than gettin’ drunk.”

“Fair enough,” Fiona laughed and watched Frank make a fool out of himself by dancing on the table. “Guess the motherfucker really loved the crazy bitch.”

“Guess so,” Ian agreed.

“I’m glad we’re back to talkin’ to each other,” Fiona admitted.

“So am I.”

“You’re not her,” Fiona looked at Ian. They both knew who she was referring to. “You’re medicated. You have a job. You’re in a stable relationship. She wasn’t like that. Not even with Frank; she was in and out of his life.”

“Thanks,” Ian responded, “means a lot."

"No problem. How are things?" Ian knew Fiona asked just to keep the conversation going.

"Things are hectic,” Ian admitted, "what with my new job and wedding planning, and with Monica's sudden death—"

“Hold up,” Fiona interrupted, “wedding planning?”

 _Shit._ “Uh..” Ian scratched absentmindedly at his cheek, not knowing how to weasel his way out of this. “Mickey and I are getting married. I was going to tell you this later, but—”

“You’re getting _married?”_ Fiona asked, loud enough for others to hear.

“Who’s getting married?” Frank slurred.

“Ian,” Fiona answered, and Frank grinned, jumping off the table, clapping Ian on the back.

“Congratulations!” Frank exclaimed, and before Ian could say anything, Lip and Sierra walked in.

“Why are we congratulating Ian?” Lip inquired.

“Jesus.” Ian sighed. Debbie hugged Ian, and Ian hugged back while Frank told Lip the news.

“No shit?” Lip grinned as Debbie pulled back.

“No shit,” Ian replied. Just then, Blue walked out, only to look at everyone looking at him.

“What?” Blue eyed all of them suspiciously. Debbie walked over to Blue and hugged him, and Blue looked so surprised it was almost comical. He awkwardly patted Debbie’s back. “Hi.. Debbie, is it?”

“Ian told us the news!” Debbie exclaimed as she stepped back. “You’re getting married?”

Blue’s sapphire eyes momentarily landed on Ian’s before turning to Debbie. “Uh, yeah,” Blue sniffed, seemingly uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting.

“When?” Fiona asked, her expression unreadable.

“Haven’t really decided on a date yet,” Ian butted in, taking the attention off of his fiancé.

Blue walked over to Ian once everyone went back to dancing and the latter draped an arm over his shoulders. “Thought we agreed we were gonna wait a while,” Blue whispered in Ian’s ear.

“It slipped out,” Ian replied apologetically. “Why, don’t you like all the attention?” He draped his arm around Blue’s shoulders, smirking slightly.

“I love it,” Blue said sarcastically, rolling his sapphire eyes as he wrapped his arm around Ian's waist, returning the smirk, but it faded away as his face turned solemn. “I love _you_.”

“I know,” Ian’s smirk widened. Blue stepped back.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say when someone says they love you, dickhead,” Blue scoffed, but smiled anyways.

Ian kissed his shoulder through his dress shirt. “I love you, asshole.”

"I know," Blue grinned before kissing Ian.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is in mickey's POV, cause i wanted to tell his side of the relationship and how he felt when they met. i will post more mickey POVs if you guys want me to.
> 
> warning: minor descriptions of abuse.

“What colour peonies do you guys want?” Mandy inquired. Mickey and Ian let Mandy and Brielle plan for the wedding while running things through with them. Ian had no problem with Mandy's slight fixation with wedding planning, but it irritated Mickey.

“How about no peonies?” Mickey suggested gruffly.

“How about peonies?” Mandy replied as curtly as her brother. Mickey glared at her. She was getting on his nerves.

“Whatever colour looks better, Mands,” Ian mumbled, not looking up from his textbook, sitting at the kitchen table. He was studying for his GED, and his jade eyes never left the book. His hair was sticking out in all directions due to the fact that he was constantly running his fingers through it. Mickey’s heart swelled with pride for his fiancé, reflecting on when they first met. His jade eyes carried despair and he had looked like he’d given up; accepted that he’d work at the diner for the rest of his life. Now, his eyes shined with happiness and he busted his ass to do better, be better.

Monica’s death had affected him; not in the way Mickey thought it’d affect him, but it did affect him nonetheless. He strove to do better with every passing day, not let his mental illness define him like it defined Monica. He wasn’t a hurricane like his mother; coming and going whenever she pleases and destroying everything in the process. Mickey couldn’t be prouder.

“Take a break, Ginger,” Mickey suggested, the brusque tone dissipating, replaced by a much softer tone as he ruffled Ian’s dishevelled hair. “You’re gonna stress yourself out like this.” Mickey didn’t dare tell anyone this, but he’d done research on Ian’s disorder so he could be prepared in case Ian does relapse. He also knew that stress could cause a person with bipolar disorder to relapse.

“I’m fine,” Ian responded dismissively.

“Ian. Close the book.” Ian sighed and reluctantly closed it, and Mickey kissed the top of Ian’s head, Ian’s orange hair tickling his skin. Mickey swore that his hair got fierier as the days went by.

“Happy?” Ian looked up at Mickey with his jade eyes. Mickey’s heart beat erratically in the restraint of his ribcage.

“I am,” Mickey replied and sat down next to Ian, their knees touching.

“I’m gonna fucking fail,” Ian sighed again, lowering his head onto the wooden table, face turned so he could look at his fiancé.

“The fuck you are,” Mickey replied. He caressed the side of Ian’s neck. “You’re gonna fucking ace the test, and then we’ll fucking talk about what colour peonies we want at our fucking wedding, and _then_ we’ll go on our fucking honeymoon where you can split me in half with your cock.” Ian laughed, which made Blue’s heart swell and his body tingle with happiness. God, he loved this man.

“There are other people here,” Mandy reminded the two men as she placed food in front of them.

“So?” Mickey took his hand off of Ian’s neck as the redhead lifted his head. “I’m not sucking his fucking dick in front of you, keep your shirt on.” Mandy rolled her cerulean eyes. “I gotta get my fucking tux tailored.”

“You could just wear the tux that you wore at your wedding with.. Svetlana, is it?” Brielle suggested, momentarily startling Mickey. _Did she fucking teleport here?_

“I’d rather not,” Mickey sniffed uncomfortably. He brushed the pad of his thumb against his nose. He didn’t want to be reminded of his dark past, wanting to burn his past and start fresh with unconditional love and happiness. He wanted to start fresh with Ian.

Ian’s hand squeezed Mickey’s knee slightly under the table, which sent electricity surging through his body and his heart beat against his chest. The simple gesture woke the fucking butterflies in his stomach, fluttering angrily inside him; all that gay shit you’d read in books was happening inside Mickey, and he hated and loved it at the same time.

Mickey couldn’t exactly pinpoint when he started feeling this way, but he assumed on that fateful day when they were at Patsy’s. Svetlana was arguing with Mickey about not being involved with raising Yevgeny, when Ian came over. Mickey swore he felt his heart stutter in his chest. The light in Ian’s green—or hazel, Mickey wasn’t sure at the time—was out, while simultaneously holding pain. His bright, red hair was cut and sleeked back, which fell onto miles and miles of freckled, pasty skin, skin that Mickey wanted to graze his fingers along.

His posture was slouched over—as if the weight of his baggage was too much to carry—and his shoulders sagged. If Mickey didn’t think he was the most beautiful thing Mickey’s ever laid his eyes on, he’d think the man seemed pathetic. He wanted to get the man’s number, make him happy, love him; all that gay shit, but was too chicken-shit to do it.

When Mickey saw Ian at the cafe, watching him with those dead, sad eyes, he thanked his lucky stars. When Ian laughed, Mickey’s heart beat erratically and he smiled stupidly at the man. It was then that he decided that he wanted to be the reason Ian smiled. They talked and he got attached, and the rest is history.

Mickey reflected on their relationship later that night in bed alone while Ian studied. His eyelids felt heavy with sleep but his body wasn’t ready to sleep without his fiancé, so he got up and saw Ian sitting at the kitchen, nose in his textbook. “Ginger.” Ian didn’t look up. “Ian.” The redhead still didn’t look up. “Baby.”

A smile spread across Ian’s face at the petname. Ian finally looked at his fiancé. “Can’t sleep without me, huh?”

“You know I can’t,” Mickey replied. “Come to bed.”

“Gotta take a shower first,” Ian stood up, “haven’t taken one today. I feel gross.” He walked past Mickey to the washroom. “You comin’, Blue?” Mickey grinned and followed Ian in, closing the door before peeling his clothes off. Ian was naked, and Mickey’s eyes drank his body in.

Ian’s body was toned—shoulders were rigid and broad, and his stomach was taut, his abs prominent. His cock was long and thick, and Mickey got the urge to wrap his lips around it. “C’mere,” Mickey mumbled and kissed Ian. The kiss was all tongue, passionate, needy. The taste of Ian was sweet and addicting, and the feeling of kissing Ian sent chills down Mickey’s spine while his heart pounded against his chest. Mickey kissed down to Ian’s neck, then his collarbone, then his chest, licking and sucking against the skin. He loved the feeling of Ian’s skin against his lips and tongue, always needing more.

“Fuck,” Ian cursed when Mickey was on his knees and sucking on the tip. He parted his lips to wrap them around the cock, bobbing his head. Ian’s long fingers were tangled in Mickey’s raven locks, as Mickey relaxed his throat and deepthroated Ian. Ian hissed in pleasure and bit his knuckle, biting back moans.

Ian shot his load down Mickey’s throat, groaning in pleasure. Mickey pulled off with a pop and stood up, turning the water on.

“I got fucking teeth marks on my knuckle,” Ian inspected the injured knuckle.

“Ay, that’s on you,” Mickey responded as both men stepped in the bathtub. “Coulda screamed my name, but you didn’t.” He rubbed soap on Ian’s skin after a while and lightly scrubbed at his skin with the rag.

“I’d never live it down.” Ian pressed himself against Mickey and nuzzled his face against the shorter man’s neck, inhaling deeply while the latter scrubbed his back. “Mmm.”

“You’re obsessed with my scent,” Mickey chuckled, “you’re like a fucking dog.”

“You smell good,” Ian responded, voice slightly muffled, “not my fault.” He kissed the skin on Mickey’s neck, sending chills down Mickey's spine.

“You’re a fucking weirdo,” Mickey laughed, ignoring his heart hammering against his chest.

“You love me,” Ian smiled against Mickey’s skin.

“I do.”

 

***************

“Alright, I gotta go,” Mickey mumbled against the redhead’s soft lips.

“Stay a bit longer,” Ian responded, kissing under Mickey’s jaw, tightening his grip around the raven-haired man. Mickey’s eyes closed immediately, relishing on the soft lips against his neck. They were in bed, enjoying each other’s kisses and touches. Mickey moved closer to Ian, kissing the taller man’s bare shoulder while Ian’s lips moved to the side of Mickey’s neck.

“I really gotta go now,” Mickey reluctantly got out of bed and put his clothes on. “And so do you.” He already missed the redhead’s warm body pressed against his. Ian was his sustenance. Mickey was addicted to him, and whenever his fiancé would kiss him or touch him, he’d want more. It was thrilling and frightening at the same time.

It was thrilling because every time Ian would touch him, it’d send his insides ablaze, made his head spin, make him forget to breathe properly, make his heart beat furiously, and _fuck_ did it feel good. It was frightening because Mickey keeps falling harder for the freckled fuck as the days go by, and he knew that Ian would one day would wake up and realize he could do much better. With his good looks, kind heart and beautiful soul, who wouldn’t fall for him? Mickey wasn’t good enough and Ian will realize that, and find someone else.

The mere thought of Ian with someone else physically hurt—it hurt much more than getting shot, or getting beaten to a pulp by his father. It felt like an iron fist was squeezing Mickey’s heart tightly, making every inch of his body scream in agonizing pain.

“I want to stay here with you,” Ian practically whined, pulling Mickey back to reality.

“I’ll be at your workplace today,” Mickey promised, trying not to let his fear seep through his restraint but failing. Ian furrowed his eyebrows.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mickey sniffed a bit, looking for his clothes. He wasn’t going to talk about his feelings. Ian didn’t buy it.

“Mickey.”

“I’m alright,” Mickey plastered on a smile and gave Ian a chaste kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

 

***************

The Milkovich house held more horrors than joyful moments. Mickey cried more than laughed in the house. He still got nightmares of when Terry would channel his anger on Mickey, using his body as a punching bag, paint his son’s porcelain skin with bruises and cuts. More often than not, Mickey would sport bruises.

Mickey’s eyes were trained on the old house, arms around his torso. Terry was back behind bars—as expected—and Mickey felt like he could breathe again. However, the image of the house didn’t keep memories of Mickey’s horrendous childhood at bay. He walked up the rickety, wooden porch and turned the knob, walking in when the door opened.

“Iggy!” Mickey exclaimed, and barged into his room. “Jesus fucking Christ!” He turned his head away from the scene. A girl was tied up against the headboard of the bed, ball gag around her mouth, in her birthday suit. Iggy himself was as covered as the girl.

“Hurry up, I’m in the middle of something,” Iggy replied nonchalantly, as if he didn’t have a girl naked and tied up.

“I got the shit,” Mickey informed him, face still turned away. Ian had agreed to let Iggy unload the meth, not really putting up that much of a fight. Mickey didn’t initially want to sell it, but the money convinced him otherwise.

“What shit?” Iggy asked. _Iggy, you dumb shit._

“I’m not talkin’ with the bitch near us,” Mickey stated matter-of-factly, turning his head but covering his eyes with his hand. The girl made a noise of disapproval around the ball gag. “Shut the fuck up, I’m not talking to _you_ ,” Mickey said to pointedly to the girl.

“Gimme a minute,” Iggy sighed, and Mickey stepped out of the room, standing near the kitchen, determined not to look at the living room where his life got turned upside down. Iggy joined him shortly afterwards, clothed. “I was gonna get laid, dude.”

“You still will,” Mickey groused and took the bag of meth out from where he was hiding. Iggy’s eyes traveled to the bag.

“Thought you was bluffing,” Iggy grinned, “I’m glad I was wrong. I get 20%, right?”

“20% my ass,” Mickey argued, “we agreed on 10.”

“Now I want 20.”

“Keep fucking arguing and I’ll lower it to 5 and give you a fucking shiner.” Mickey raised his eyebrows defiantly.

“The fuck am I supposed to do with a grand?” Iggy groused.

“Get a hotter girl.”

“Fuck you, she’s hot.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey rubbed his forehead, “I’m gettin’ hitched, I need the money.”

“Seriously?” Iggy grinned. “Congrats, dude.”

“Thanks.” Mickey sniffed, the corners of his lips threatening to curl up into a smile. He was excited as all hell, but he wasn’t going to smile and express his excitement, so his scowl deepened. “10%.”

“Fine,” Iggy agreed, “only ‘cause you’re getting hitched.” Mickey nodded and handed the bag. “I’m gonna hide this and then fucking rail—”

“Don’t wanna know your plans,” Mickey interrupted, giving Iggy his “what the fuck” look and walking out, taking a cigarette out and lighting it. Only when he was certain that no one was around him, he let his face break into a wide smile.

_Fucking Ginger._


	3. Chapter 3

The severity of Mickey’s nightmares varied wildly. Most of the time, he’d be shaken up about it but he’d smoke to calm his nerves and go back to sleep. Other times, he’d wake up in tears. Ian hated that. He hated how his past still managed to torment him. His heart shattered into a million pieces when he’d hold his traumatized fiancé, and anger would course through his veins.

Mickey was sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep while Ian studied. He ran his fingers through his red hair, sighing tiredly. His boss had planned on wearing him out, emotionally and physically. The soles of his feet ached due to the fact that he was on his feet for the entirety of his shift.

Ian’s undivided attention was on his book, until he heard his fiancé gasp suddenly. His head turned to Mickey who was sitting up, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes; a sign that he was about to cry. Ian got up from his chair and walked over to the shorter man. “Hey.” He knelt in front of his fiancé, embracing the latter. Mickey nuzzled his face into Ian’s neck, exhaling shakily. “It’s alright. It was just a dream.”

Ian was holding his love tight, as if he wanted to squeeze Mickey’s broken pieces back together. Mickey pulled out of Ian’s strong arms, out of the only safety he really had in his fucked up life. “I wet your shirt.”

“That’s alright,” Ian responded, “I’ve had you jizz on me before. I can handle a couple of tears.” Mickey laughed wetly and Ian’s heart swelled up in the restraint of his chest. Ian wiped his fiancé’s tears with his hand.

“Apparently semen is a natural moisturizer,” Mickey joked, “so you’re welcome.”

“Bullshit,” Ian laughed, “it is not.”

“Wanna put it to the test?” his fiancé licked his lips and waggled his eyebrows, the atmosphere in the room changing drastically. “Your face seems pretty dry.” He caressed Ian’s cheek tenderly, thumb rubbing against the skin. Ian leaned his face against the calloused hand.

“It’s oily,” Ian corrected.

“Bullshit,” Mickey scoffed, “Mandy’s skin is oily. Bitch looks like she’s always fucking sweating. Your skin’s fucking perfect.”

“It’s freckly,” Ian argued, and got up to sit on his lap.

“So?” Mickey shrugged. “Mine’s freckly as well but you keep tellin’ me it’s perfect.”

“Cause it’s you.”

“That’s gay, Ginger,” his fiancé grinned. Ian could see the tiny brown flecks littering Mickey’s pallid skin, kissing a couple of the freckles before nuzzling his face in the latter’s neck.

“Gayer than loving another man?” Ian inquired, inhaling the scent of Mickey. "Gayer than marrying another man?"

“Nah, that’s pretty fucking gay as it is.” Mickey’s Adam apple bobbed up and down. “You really wanna do this? Get married?”

“More than anything,” Ian confirmed.

“You’re gonna love me forever? Stay with me?” Doubt was creeping into Mickey’s voice.

“’Course I am,” Ian assured his love. “I’m stayin’ right here.” He closed his eyes, listening to Mickey’s deep inhales and exhales. He didn’t want to be anywhere else but right here.

 

***************

 

Ian woke up, arm draped over his fiancé’s waist, in their bed. He didn’t quite remember when they mustered up enough energy to move to the bed. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating their small room. Ian sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and looked at the raven-haired man, shoulders rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. He was lying on his stomach, bare back exposed. Ian wanted to kiss the soft skin, feel his muscles move under the untarnished, glowing skin. How’d he get so lucky?

His trance was cut short by a buzzing coming from Mickey’s phone. He peered at the caller ID, which said “Russian Commie Bitch.” Ian had to bite his lip from laughing, and tapped Mickey’s shoulder; rookie mistake.

His fiancé tensed up and held up his fists to fight when he had woken up. “Hey, hey. Calm down, it’s me.” Mickey lowered his fists and his guard, sitting up. “Your wife’s callin’ you.” He handed Mickey’s phone over to the latter, suppressing the smile.

“How do you know it’s Svetlana?” Mickey inquired.

“How many Russian commie bitches do you know?” Ian raised his eyebrow.

“Fair point,” Mickey chuckled. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” Mickey leaned over and kissed Ian’s bare shoulder, lips lingering longer than usual. Ian’s heart hammered in his chest at the feel of soft lips on his skin, while his skin tingled.

“I’m gonna talk to Svetlana and then I’ll join you at the table later, okay?”

“Okay,” Ian nodded and reluctantly got out of bed, brushing his teeth, taking his meds and joining Mandy, who was giggling and kissing Casey. They were sickeningly cute. Ian remembered the first six months of his relationship with Mickey; it was usually arguments over Mickey’s irrational jealousy. As months flew by they argued less and understood each other more.

But Casey and Mandy, they’re hugging and kissing each other and looking at each other like the other one was the moon and stars; eyes filled with adoration and love. Ian knew how they felt, he felt that way with Mickey. He was filled to the brim with happiness. He knew that relying on someone to make you happy wasn’t the smartest, and it’d only lead to destruction.

“Get a room,” Ian complained as he began brewing coffee for Mickey.

“We’re in a room,” Casey responded.

“Get another one.”

“Hey,” Mickey greeted, waking the butterflies in Ian’s stomach up from their slumber. “Svetlana called me. Was pissed that I didn’t answer the first time she called and bitched about how she called me a hundred times before.”

“Did she?” Ian inquired as he handed his fiancé his coffee.

“She called four fuckin’ times,” Mickey grumbled, blowing on his coffee.

“Why’d she call you?” Casey inquired while Ian made them food.

“Found out that I was gettin’ hitched,” Mickey answered. “Speaking of, how’s the planning going?”

“It’s going well,” Mandy replied, “we agreed on February 20th as the wedding date, right?”

“Yeah,” Ian confirmed, setting the food on the table, while sitting down and eating his own. He was excited as all hell about their wedding. February was only three months away, but the time was going by as slowly as possible. He wanted Mickey as his husband as soon as possible. He didn’t just didn’t want to start a new chapter of his life with Mickey. No, he wanted to rip all previous chapters out of his book, rip his past out, to start a future with his love.

“Does anyone want to check out the place with me today?” Mandy inquired.

“Can’t,” Mickey shook his head, “the wife wants me to spend time with the kid.”

“The kid has a name,” Mandy countered.

“I’m fucking aware,” Mickey responded brusquely.

“Then use it,” Mandy argued. “Also, would it kill you to act like spending time with your fucking child isn’t the worst kind of torture there is?”

“I’ll act however I fucking want, butt out,” Mickey responded, anger blazing in his eyes. Ian knew well why Mickey wanted to avoid his child. The ache in Ian’s chest that only made itself known when Ian was reminded of the conception of Yevgeny throbbed with agonizing pain inside him.

“It’s not Yevgeny’s fault you two are fucked up,” Mandy retorted, the anger in her eyes matching her brother’s.

“And it’s not my fault that she got knocked up,” Mickey countered, “get off your fucking high horse, bitch, you don’t know shit about mine and Svetlana’s marriage.”

“Okay,” Ian butt in, trying to pour oil on troubled waters, “I’ll go. Alright? I gotta pick Liam up from his school and then I’ll join you.” He moved so he was behind Mickey, massaging his shoulders. The latter’s tense shoulders relaxed as Ian kneaded the shoulders. “Humboldt Park, right?”

“No,” Mandy responded, “the venue I told you about wasn't available on your date. I’ll text you the address.” The atmosphere was tense; Ian could feel it.

“I’ll be there,” Ian mustered up a small smile.

 

***************

“I don’t really get Mickey sometimes,” Mandy shrugged while her, Ian and Liam sat at McDonald’s. They checked the venue out and it was beautiful; square tables as black as charcoal were placed on a brown, hardwood floor, white tablecloths draped over them, and huge windows that let light illuminate the room. The decoration of the altar was simple but Mandy said they’ll add flowers. Ian loved it. He could almost imagine their close loved ones sitting while Ian walked down the aisle, joining his fiancé, exchanging vows and kissing a beaming Mickey while others clapped. He was excited.

“It’s complicated,” Ian managed to say between bites, “Yevgeny just reminds him of shit he doesn’t wanna remember.” _Like how Terry hated his sexuality so much he thought it was justified to get a hooker to fuck his own son against his son’s will._ His blood boiled at the thought but he bottled it up.

“I guess,” Mandy nodded, “it’s just not fair. Whatever happened isn’t Yevgeny’s fault.”

“Neither is it Mickey’s,” Ian countered. “Listen, you can’t force someone to love their kid. But Mickey’s trying. He’s paying for child support and actually being a part of the kid’s life.”

“Shouldn’t have been so harsh on him, huh?” Mandy sighed.

Ian shook his head, and decided to change the subject. He didn’t want to talk about the past, he wanted to burn it; start fresh. But that wasn’t going to happen. The past will pop back up at the most inopportune moments and will fill your head and dampen your mood. No matter how much Ian wanted to run away from his past, he couldn’t. It would be of no use; it would catch up with him. “My boss is fucking driving me crazy. Can’t even sit down for a while. She’s like.. Linda 2.0.”

“Kinda justifiable why Linda gave you a hard time, though. If you were bangin’ my husband I’d resent you as well,” Mandy teased and Ian flipped her off.

“I’m not even sure Celeste _has_ a husband,” Ian continued, “who the fuck would want to spend forever with her? Not me. Would you, Liam?”

“No.”

“See?” Ian grinned.

“He’s six, he has no idea what you’re talking about,” Mandy laughed. “But love is blind, or whatever the fuck. Doesn’t matter what you look like. It’s the personality that counts, right?”

“Sure,” Ian shrugged. He did agree, however; he fell for Mickey’s personality that he hides from everyone else. Yeah, his physical features—like his soft raven hair, his smooth, freckled skin, puffy pink lips and his piercing sapphire eyes—are what drew Ian in but his personality; his personality is what made Ian fall for him, head-first.

His personality shined in Ian’s dark world. Ian saw past his physical features and saw who he was—a kind, witty, charming man that deserved all the love in the world. All the characteristics he concealed from the rest of the world, he presented to Ian, which made Ian give him his heart on a silver fucking platter.

He kept falling for Mickey, and it was thrilling. Everything was thrilling with Mickey. The man made him want to enjoy life again, and the intensity of his feelings scared him.

It scared him because he’s never liked anyone this strongly before. This love was passionate and unwavering and the experience was intimidating. Ian was walking into uncharted territory, and it was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

“You working on your vows?” Mandy asked, pulling Ian back to reality.

“I will,” Ian promised, “studying and working is just taking so much time up. Really wanna do well on my GED, maybe I can get a scholarship when I apply for Malcolm X.”

“How much will the scholarship cover?” Mandy inquired.

“Half the cost,” Ian answered.

Mandy nodded. “You don’t need to try to save money. You’re gonna get ten grand anyways.”

“Nine,” Ian corrected, “Iggy’s getting 10% of it.”

“Nine grand’s still a lot,” Mandy pointed out.

“Gonna use some of it for our honeymoon,” Ian responded, “and put the rest in a savings account.” The fact that they were planning for a fucking wedding and go on a wedding still hasn’t registered with the redhead. It seemed like a vivid dream; like his relationship with Mickey was fake and Ian was going to wake up alone in his cold bed. He fought the urge to pinch himself.

This was happening. This was his life. He didn’t wake up alone and sad anymore. He woke up to piercing blue eyes that carried adoration and love for Ian, and he was going to wake up to those piercing blue eyes for the rest of his life.

He wasn’t ever going to have to deal with the feeling of despair that was caused by the fact that he had no one to go home to, no strong arms that provided comfort when his life was coming apart at the seams, no help from anyone when he had to sew his life back together and soldier on. He had someone by his side and he couldn’t be more grateful of that.

_Fucking Blue._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: minor descriptions of self harm.

_You up for a run? I need to talk._

Getting that text from Carl surprised Ian to say the least. Carl never “needed to talk.” He was a temporarily borderline sociopathic boy that was more observant than he was talkative, who cared more than he let on. So Carl texting the redhead worried Ian. _Yeah, I’ll join you at your place,_ he texted back.

He removed his arm from his fiancé’s waist, cautiously getting up so he wouldn’t wake Mickey up, but failed to do so. “Mm,” Mickey sighed as he woke up, but kept his eyes closed. “Come back to bed.” His voice was husky with sleep. Ian leaned down and kissed Mickey’s arm.

“I’m gonna go for a run,” Ian responded and tugged on a sweatshirt, underwear and sweatpants on. “I’ll be back lickety split.” He slipped on his ring before walking to the door.

“No one says that anymore, fuckin’ dork,” Mickey teased and Ian rolled his eyes before jogging steadily to the old house.

His little brother was sitting on the porch, wearing baggy grey sweatshirt and sweatpants to go along with it. He nodded a greeting before getting up and joining Ian on the sidewalk. “Been a while since I went running,” Carl admitted and both brothers ran down the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” Ian responded. He watched his brother from the corner of his eye. Gone was the troubled kid that was eerily obsessed with fireworks and weapons. In his wake was what Ian wanted to be five years ago—in military school, working his ass off to legally get in the army. Of course, his mental illness set a match to that career path.

“You’re serious about Mickey huh?” Carl inquired out of the blue.

“We’re engaged,” Ian stated, “we’re pretty serious.”

“Fiona thinks you’re too young for marriage,” Carl informed his brother, which made the latter scoff, “says you’re rushing into things.”

“We’ve been dating longer than she dated either Gus or Sean,” Ian retorted, “she has no room to judge. Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

“No,” Carl answered, much to Ian’s relief.

“Then what?” Ian inquired.

“When did you know you liked him?” Carl inquired, evidently ignoring Ian’s question.

“Couple weeks after I met him,” Ian answered, wondering where this was going. The day was off to a weird start. Firstly, Carl texted him about needing to talk, and then he started interrogating Ian about Ian’s own relationship with his fiancé. “Why? Where is this coming from?”

“Nowhere, I..” Carl sighed. Ian’s stomach did flips inside him while his heart beat hard, and not because of the exertion of running. The worry in Ian steadily increased, as the silence between them prolonged. “You’re the only one who’ll get me. Fiona and Debbie won’t, and Lip’s.. Lip. But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Spit it out, man,” Ian urged, “don’t beat around the bush.”

“Alright,” Carl nodded. “Remember Alex?”

“Yeah..” realization dawned on him. “You’re gay?”

“No,” Carl shook his head, “I like tits. I also happen to like dick as well, apparently. I don’t know. See, this is why I came to you ‘cause you’d understand to an extent.” Carl huffed slightly, his breath condensing somewhat, creating white puffs. “He just makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, y’know?”

“I do,” Ian nodded. He knew very well. “Liking a dude isn’t that different than liking a girl. I think. It’s still emotions.”

“Was it this hard for you to come to terms with it?” Carl inquired. “That you weren’t.. straight.” Ian pondered it for a bit. He remembered looking at pictures of half naked male models and how the feeling of sexual arousal settled itself inside the pit of his stomach, and how he pushed away the thoughts that were clouding his mind, internally chiding himself for feeling that way for other men, because he just _couldn’t_ like men.

Growing up where he grew up, where men like Terry roamed the streets, you had to hide your feelings for other men, or else you’d get beat the shit out of. Homosexuality was—and still is—taboo in the Southside.

“Yeah,” Ian decided to say, “it was. But I told myself I wasn’t wired that way. I didn’t get horny over women. I couldn’t imagine myself actually having a wife and kids of my own. I loved who I loved and I couldn’t change that. It takes a long fucking time to realize that being anything other than straight is okay.”

Carl nodded. “It’s a lot to wrap my head around.”

“I know,” Ian replied, “but I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Ian couldn’t help but feel like this was déjà vu of some sort. The winding path of accepting your sexuality is hard, and it makes you want to stifle the confusing feelings and ignore them, hope they fade away, but they don’t. They get stronger the more you deny that they exist inside you. However, acceptance is much easier to accomplish in this journey when there’s someone who’s gone down this path, who’s been in your shoes before, guides you down this path.

Ian’s never had guidance in this tricky period of time—he had to figure it out by himself while simultaneously not letting anyone find out about his sexuality (because he didn’t want to get beaten to a pulp), and it was extremely hard for him to do so.

So he was going to be Carl’s guide, and he’s going to be one hell of a guide.

 

***************

Ian had known his day would be eventful way before having Carl come out to him. He arrived at work, in a better mood than usual—because he had fucked Mickey in the shower before having to go, which, to Ian, was a great way to start the day—walking in with more enthusiasm.

However, all of that had gone to shit as soon as he saw fiery red hair belonging to his sperm donor in the middle of his shift.

It was lunch, which meant the spacious diner was buzzing with people, which also meant Cunt—Ian’s nickname for his boss—was overworking her employees.

“Gallagher,” Cunt called, her shrill voice pulling Ian back to reality. Ian reluctantly tore his eyes from the other deadbeat dad he had to look at Cunt. “Stop lollygagging. Get to working.” Who the fuck says “lollygagging” anymore? Ian shook his head and made a beeline to the man that he hasn’t seen in six—holy fuck, has six years gone by that fast?—years.

“How’d you know I work here?” Ian inquired. The question had rolled off his tongue effortlessly, which was surprising to Ian. Usually words clumsily tumbled out of his mouth.

“Hello to you too,” Clayton peered up at his bastard child.

“Hi,” Ian retorted, not bothering to hide the irritation he felt, “how’d you know I work here?”

“I went by to your place earlier today,” Clayton answered, his tone much calmer than Ian’s was. Ian’s eyebrows knitted in mystification momentarily before realizing that he meant the Gallagher residence and not the apartment Ian shared with his fiancé and his best friend. “I heard about Monica. I wanted to give you my condolences.”

“Don’t need it,” Ian responded.

“I’m still giving you my condolences,” Clayton replied calmly. “But I found out that you weren’t there. So then, I asked where you _could_ be and they told me to come here.”

“I don’t live there anymore,” Ian informed Clayton, “I live with my fiancé.”

“You’re getting married?” Clayton beamed, “congratulations. What’s her name?”

“ _His_ name is Mickey,” Ian corrected. “Is this why you’re here? To talk about Monica’s death and then fucking catch up? ‘Cause I’m not interested.” He didn’t know he resented Clayton until that moment. Yes, he wanted to stay with Frank and them, but that didn’t mean that Clayton shouldn’t pretend that Ian wasn’t his child. He figured it stemmed from the fact that he didn’t have a stable parent growing up, and Clayton didn’t acknowledge his existence. Whatever it was, it filled Ian up with bitterness and made his demeanor stoic while he suppressed the sadness and hurt that threatened to make themselves known.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you better,” Clayton admitted. “So has Jacob.”

“Jacob knows now?” Ian crossed his arms.

“Yeah,” Clayton nodded. “He overheard Lucy and I fighting about the subject.” It was Ian’s turn to nod. “Will you give me another chance?”

“No.” Ian’s answer was instantaneous, his voice brusque. “You can’t choose when you can enter my life and when you can leave. I’ve had one parent like that, I don’t need another.” He knew it was a low blow by the pained expression on Clayton’s face, but he didn’t give a shit. “I’d like to meet Jacob, though.” His jade eyes were anywhere but on Clayton’s. He didn’t want his resentment towards Clayton affect his judgement on Jacob. He’d shun Clayton out but not Jacob—unless Jacob is one of those snobby rich assholes that you would want to punch, break their perfect teeth as they flashed a smile at you.

“Fair enough,” Clayton nodded. If Ian hadn’t known any better, Clayton sounded disheartened. Well, sucks for him. If he wanted to visit Ian, he should’ve done so earlier. He should’ve been there when Ian felt like he was on top of the world for weeks on end, only for that world to suffocate him with the weight of it, chaining him to his bed. He should’ve been there when Ian was at the psych ward, when he felt like his brain was scrambled and fear was pooling at his stomach. He should’ve been there when Ian was adjusting to the meds and felt numb, so numb that he inflicted pain onto himself to feel something. He should’ve been there when Ian felt the exhilaration of falling in love for the first time. He should’ve been there when Ian’s heart was shattered to a million pieces, when the ferocity of his heart breaking in the restraint of his chest was too much to bear.

He _should’ve been there._

But no, he wasn’t there. Ian had to navigate his way through life without any guidance from Frank, Monica or Clayton. And Ian had done a great fucking job at paving his own path, without their help.

Ian let his other co-worker serve Clayton as he walked to the back of the diner, opening the hefty door with a grunt and stepped out to the cold, crisp air. His long fingers fumbled for the pack in his pocket as he got a stick out, placing it between his lips before lighting it. He inhaled the smoke before slowly letting it out. Why he let the fact that Clayton asking for another chance bother him, he didn’t know. But it did and he hated it.

Ian sighed, wanting nothing more than to see his fiancé. Mickey was his safe haven, always providing a refuge for Ian when Ian needed it. And at that moment, Ian needed his safe haven.

Hours crept by, but his safe haven did walk through those doors. Ian didn’t recognize him at first; with his navy blue beanie covering his raven hair and his 5 o'clock shadow, he looked different, but delicious all the while. He made heads turn, but he didn’t give a shit about them; he gave a shit about the ginger that looked at him like he held the stars and moon in Ian’s world.

“Hey,” Mickey smiled when he had caught up with Ian, the latter slotting their lips immediately, looping an arm around Mickey’s waist. The diner dissipated and it was just them. Clayton, Celeste, none of that mattered at the moment.

“Hi,” Ian greeted after peeling his lips off of Mickey’s, admiring his freckles momentarily. “My shift’s over, wanna get out of here?”

Mickey’s smile widened into a grin, a dimple that Ian hadn’t noticed before appearing. “Fuck yeah I do.”

 

***************

The minute both men walked inside the apartment, their lips were attached as their nomadic hands explored each other’s clothed bodies. Ian cupped Mickey’s ass as they clumsily made their way to their bedroom, tongues dancing together. Their lips were peeled off of each other, followed by clothes.

“I’ve been thinking about your cock all day,” Mickey breathed as Ian’s lips sucked lightly on his neck. “Been thinking about how it stretches me so nicely.”

Ian pushed Mickey onto the bed, and Mickey got on his hands and knees, presenting his plump ass to Ian. Ian got behind him, biting one of the cheeks gently as he slicked his fingers up with lube. He wasted no time getting his fingers inside his fiancé, as the latter moaned. He rubbed Mickey’s prostate as he made quick work of opening him up, the latter letting out a guttural moan.

“Sweet Jesus,” Mickey moaned, dropping his head between his shoulders.

“My name is Ian,” Ian grinned cheekily, and lined his cock up with Mickey’s hole after putting lube on his cock.

“I’d kick your ass for that if I wasn’t so horny,” Mickey grumbled, and moaned, biting his lip when Ian thrust into him.

“Take that back,” Ian said, snapping his hips at a rapid pace, making the raven-haired man a moaning mess. This was one of the things he loved about Mickey; the man can take Ian’s nine inch like a fucking champ. Ian didn’t have to be gentle with him, didn’t have to hold back. Mickey’s guttural, low moans that he was currently letting out were another feature that Ian loved.

“I’m not— _fuck,_ baby, harder—going to take it back.” Ian’s heart swelled up at the term of endearment and fucked him harder; because Ian would do anything to please his man, regardless of it being sexual.

“Take it back,” Ian practically growled, nipping at the back of his neck, angling his hips to repeatedly hit Mickey’s prostate, increasing the speed. The springs of the bed squeaked loudly, their bed on the cusp of breaking as the headboard of the bed knocked against the wall repeatedly.

“ _FUCK,_ I take it back.” Both men came hard that night, and laid in sweaty heaps panting at the exertion.

“I needed to let off some steam,” Ian placed a chaste kiss on Mickey’s soft lips.

“And here I thought we were making love,” Mickey joked, “I feel betrayed.”

“You want me to make love to you?” Ian raised an eyebrow. “Go all gentle and loving, and look into your eyes and tell you how much I love you?” His voice was light, teasing; his sour mood gone.

“Fuck no,” Mickey chuckled.

“So you just want me to fuck you so hard our bed is about to break?”

“Yeah.” Mickey kissed Ian’s bare shoulder. “What’s gotten you so stressed today? You know stress ain’t good for you on your meds.”

"I know," he sighed, “I talked to Clayton today."

“Sperm donor?”

Ian smiled at the nickname. “Yeah. Said he wanted to catch up.”

“What’d you say?” Mickey inquired.

“I said no,” Ian answered, “but I’m gonna meet his son. Give the dude a chance.”

“Sounds fair,” Mickey nodded, “Clayton can’t just fuckin’ check in whenever he wants to. That’s not fair.”

“Tell me about it,” Ian sighed again. He rest his chest on the shorter man’s clammy chest, glad to be back in his safe haven; where nothing in this world can affect him in any way. Ian closed his eyes, the world slowly slipping away into nothingness for a couple of blissful hours.


	5. Chapter 5

Jake had been the spitting image of Clayton, with thick-rimmed glasses that took over more than half than his face, pasty face covered with golden flecks, fiery red hair—which was fierier than Ian’s— that messily fell over his face and a scrawny body. All in all, he looked like a skinnier, shorter version of Ian with glasses.

When Ian first met him, Jake was too stunned to string a sentence together. Their conversation was short and Ian got bored, but gave his cousin-slash-step-brother a chance. As time went by, Jake opened up and Ian enjoyed his company. He was funny—even when he doesn’t intend to be—and had a heart of gold.

The day before Thanksgiving, Ian convinced Jake to come over to his place so he could introduce the guy to the others, which was why Ian was frantically vacuuming the carpet in their apartment. _Who fucking thought covering the apartment floor with a carpet was a good idea?_

“Tell me why Jake’s comin’ over again,” Mickey inquired over the loud hum of the vacuum, even though it sounded more like a statement than a question. He picked Yevgeny up, the latter immediately lowering his head onto Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey was working on growing to love the boy, but it was seemingly a difficult task to accomplish.

“So he can meet other people,” Ian answered loudly, “I’m pretty sure the kid has no friends.”

“So he’s an antisocial loser, huh?” Mickey smirked.

“ _You’re_ antisocial, Blue,” Ian pointed out.

“Doesn’t fucking mean I can’t tease you about _your_ antisocial.. whatever the fuck.” Ian turned the vacuum off after finishing the task he hated the most. _Who the fuck invented carpets anyways?_ His ears ringed slightly, adjusting to the lack of the hum of the vacuum.

“Don’t be mean, okay?” Ian reminded Mickey for the umpteenth time, sitting down on the couch. Mickey sat beside him, their thighs touching.

“Me? Mean?” Mickey inquired, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I would never. I’m not an asshole.” Ian rolled his eyes, and placed a chaste kiss on his asshole of a fiancé.

“Sarcastic fucking cunt,” Ian smirked, and placed multiple chaste kisses on Mickey’s lips.

“That’s,” kiss, “not a,” kiss, “nice thing,” kiss, “to—mm, say,” kiss, “to your fiancé.”

“Shut up,” Ian ordered, and slotted their lips together. The kiss didn’t involve tongue, but it was blissful. Chills travelled down Ian’s spine while he melted into the kiss. He kicked himself for not being able to enjoy those soft, plump lips more often; not being able to enjoy Mickey more often.

“Will you stop traumatizing the kid?” Mandy sighed. Mickey peeled his lips off of Ian’s to glower at Mandy, while the redhead pressed his upper and lower lip together. “He’s seen enough.” She took Yevgeny away from his father.

“I’m gonna go prepare the food,” Ian announced and headed to the kitchen, the two siblings bickering in his wake. At first, it was about Mickey and Ian kissing.

“Close your fucking eyes when we do it,” Mickey suggested curtly, “walk away.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, asshole,” Mandy snapped.

“Fuck you,” Mickey spat, “I’m gonna fuck Ian in front of you the next time you bitch about it.”

Then, it was about Mandy wanting to put purple hydrangeas instead of peonies. Initially, Mickey didn’t know what “purple hydrangeas” were.

“It sounds like a sexually  transmitted illness,” Mickey commented, “‘I’m sorry sir, but you have Hydrangeas’.”

“I’m not in charge of what they call the flowers, bitch,” Mandy informed her brother brusquely, “for your fucking information.”

“Really?” Mickey responded sarcastically, raising his eyebrows, “you almost had me there. Hydrangea is one of the stupid fuckin’ names I’d assume you would come up with.” However, he was okay with putting purple hydrangeas; because they weren’t peonies and purple isn’t “as gay of a colour as pink or some shit.”

When the doorbell rang, Ian hurried to the door and opened it, smiling politely at his.. whatever Jake was. “Hey,” Jake greeted, mirroring Ian’s lopsided smile. Ever since Ian met Jake, he was blown away by how analogous they looked. Ian let him in.

“That’s Mandy and my fiancé Mickey,” Ian introduced and both siblings waved at the other redhead—Mandy did so eagerly with a smile and Mickey did so half-heartedly—“and that’s Casey. Guys, this is Jake.” Jake waved at the others before turning to Ian.

“Wait, you’re engaged to Mickey?” Jake inquired.

“That’s what he said, Strawberry Shortcake,” Mickey answered for Ian. “Or do you not know what ‘fiancé’ means?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to assume,” Jake stammered, obviously intimidated by Mickey.

This was going to be a fun day.

 

**************

The day wasn’t as bad as Ian guessed it’d be. They had a Harry Potter marathon—which ended up with Ian being chased by Mickey, because he brought up Fred’s death and Mickey was _not_ ready to be reminded of the bitter and abrupt death of the beloved Weasley—but all in all, it was fun.

Ian was currently smoking with his fiancé, in the living room. The smoke billowed out in front of them. “Do we have to have Thanksgiving with your fucking family?” Mickey inquired.

“It’s tradition, Mick,” Ian informed the shorter man while exhaling the smoke out. “That’s what families do.”

“I’d rather share a turkey with you only,” Mickey admitted, “you’re the only tolerable Gallagher.” Ian laughed and turned to look at his fiancé, the soft glow of their dim lights bouncing off of his features.

“I’m honoured,” Ian smiled and kissed Mickey’s shoulder. “Did you ever have Thanksgiving dinners growing up?”

“Yeah,” Mickey nodded. “When my mom was alive. She’d make the best fuckin’ food, and we’d eat and talk. It felt almost.. normal, y’know? Then shit hit the fan, and the dinner would end with blood and tears. Didn’t mean that I didn’t cherish those moments where I felt fucking.. happy.” Mickey wasn’t looking at Ian, sapphire eyes trained somewhere else. The pain was etched on his face, and Ian’s heart twisted in agonizing pain.

Ian moved closer to Mickey, making the latter lower his head on the redhead’s chest. Ian held his fiancé, silently vowing to always make Mickey happy. He didn’t want Mickey’s past tormenting him. Ian wanted to turn back time and fix his past, but he wasn’t capable of doing that. So he settled for the next best thing; make his present picture fucking perfect.

“This Thanksgiving’s gonna be different,” Ian promised, pressing a kiss onto Mickey’s hair.

 

***************

Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t eventful, which was something else Ian was thankful of, on top of everything else Ian was already thankful for. Mickey urged Ian to leave, and Ian complied, following his fiancé out of the shabby house Ian spent his childhood in.

“Cafe?” Ian inquired, as if Mickey would turn down going to the fucking place. He turned to look at his fiancé's face, under the white glow of all the lights in the buildings they passed by streaming out of windows. 

“Of course,” Mickey answered, like it was obvious, which, it was. He rolled his sapphire eyes.

“Fuck off,” Ian responded without much malice, and draped an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. “Tonight wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was boring,” Mickey admitted and Ian hummed in agreement. “But it didn’t end up the way it had ended up before at my place. But that’s tolerable, so.. I guess not.”

Ian grinned. “See? Told you that this year was gonna be different.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mickey grinned back as they stepped in the L. The city lights blurred after the train left the station, mixing into one colour. “We really need a fucking car.”

“We’ll get one,” Ian promised, “but what kind?”

Mickey pondered that thought, gnawing on his lower lip. “I’d go for the 2008 Hyundai Elantra. Cause it’s cheap—”

“Thirteen grand is cheap?” Ian raised his eyebrows incredulously.

“Compared to many fucking cars, yeah,” Mickey nodded. “It also has a rear window defroster. You have any other fuckin’ hypothetical car choices for our future?”

“2008 Toyota Yaris,” Ian answered.

“That’s not that much cheaper than the Hyundai Elantra, dimwit,” Mickey answered.

“It is,” Ian nodded, “plus it looks cool as fuck.”

“So does the Hyundai Elantra.”

“You blind, Blue? It doesn’t look cool.”

“I can see well, Ginger.” And they bickered like a married couple over numerous things; one of them being bachelor parties.

“Being surrounded by coked out go-go dancers that smell like wrinkly balls and geriatric Viagroids doesn’t sound fucking appealing to me,” Mickey commented while they waited in line at the cafe.

“Not all of them are coked out,” Ian clarified, “and not all of them are geriatric Viagroids.”

“Right,” Mickey replied skeptically. “The rest of ‘em are fucking queens. Anyways, I got used to being in a relationship. Don’t want to pretend to be single the night before I get hitched.”

“Then what do you want?” Ian inquired.

“Wanna be with you,” his fiancé answered quietly. “Don’t want anyone else, I’m dick-whipped for you.” Ian’s knees almost buckled at the weight of those words and his heart thumped the hardest it’s ever thumped against his chest. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss Mickey vehemently.

“And you will,” Ian responded, his voice just as low, “for the rest of your life.”

“Enough with the gay shit,” Mickey chuckled, his pale ears as red as Ian’s hair.

“Nah,” Ian grinned. “Where d’you want to go for our honeymoon? We could stay in the state. Or we could go somewhere else.” They had gotten to the front of the line. Mickey opened his mouth to answer, only to be interpolated by Perky Dani.

“Hi!” Dani beamed. “Nice to see familiar faces again.”

Ian smiled warmly while Mickey just shrugged. “We’ve been incredibly busy.”

“That’s alright,” Dani smiled, “the usual?”

“Mhm.” Both men stepped out of line after Ian had paid.

“How the fuck do you stay patient with Perky over there?” Mickey grumbled quietly.

“I’m not an antisocial asshole,” Ian shrugged, which got him the middle finger in response. “I like perky people.”

“The only perky shit I like are Perky C’s,” Mickey replied. Ian furrowed his eyebrows. “Kidding, I’m kidding. I don’t take that shit.” He patted Ian’s cheek affectionately, the latter nodding, and the two grabbed their food before taking their usual seat and chatting the night away like they did years ago, except they didn’t stifle their feelings for each other, or ignore the urges to touch the other tenderly or kiss them. Their conversations never really strayed from the topic of their impending wedding that seemed so close yet so far away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: depictions of violence.

The thing Mickey liked about Ian is because Ian fucking discusses shit now. If something bothers him, he tells Mickey. It was a foreign concept to Mickey, however; the way Mickey solved issues was with his fists. That’s all he knew—violence. Violence _was_ the answer for most of his life.

So talking was a nice change of pace. It helped more than violence, and it would feel like a dead weight was lifted off of Mickey’s shoulders.

However the redhead had a bad timing with bringing up important topics to discuss, which could be aggravating.

“We should get an apartment for ourselves,” Ian grunted, increasing the speed of his hips, drilling into the older man. He leaned down and left wet kisses on Mickey’s neck, moaning slightly.

“Are you seriously thinking about this now?” Mickey grumbled, which morphed into a moan as Ian angled his hips to hit Mickey’s prostate.

“Well, we should talk about it,” Ian countered.

“Shut up,” Mickey moaned, and mumbled for Ian to switch positions, as Ian moved onto his back and Mickey straddled him. Both men moaned as Mickey inched Ian’s cock back into him until he was fully seated. The shorter man used his strong thighs to ride his fiancé into the mattress, his tattooed fingers clutching the cream sheets on either side of Ian’s head.

“Oh-oh God, Mick,” Ian moaned, a complete wreck under Mickey, angling his hips again, hitting Mickey’s prostate. Mickey experimentally lowered his hand to his fiancé’s throat, circling his fingers around it and gently squeezed where he assumed the carotid arteries are by squeezing his thumb and fingers, to test the waters. The web of his hand was simply resting on the redhead’s throat, careful not to squeeze the windpipe. “Fuck, harder” was what Ian managed to let out, and Mickey squeezed harder, relieved that the redhead didn’t respond with coughing. Mickey squeezed for a couple of seconds before releasing and squeezed again, repeating the pattern so Ian would not pass out

The newfound power was exhilarating. It set Mickey’s inside ablaze, as his heart accelerated, thumping hard against his chest. His fiancé was a wreck, letting out a litany of curses, and shot his load into Mickey, the shorter man not far behind.

Mickey lowered himself next to his redhead, while Ian tried catching his breath. “That was.. the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” Ian admitted. Mickey grinned cockily at those words. _He_ gave Ian the best orgasm Ian’s ever experienced. His heart soared.

“You’re pretty fucking submissive for a top,” Mickey taunted, “you’re my bitch now.”

“Fuck off,” Ian laughed and lowered his head onto Mickey’s clammy chest. “But seriously, we should move out.”

“We should,” Mickey conceded, “but where?”

“Fiona owns a building. Maybe I could ask her, see if we can move in to one of the apartments.”

“Okay,” Mickey nodded. “We’re gonna fucking annoy the neighbours with all the fucking we’ll be doing.”

“They can suck it up.” Ian leaned up and kissed Mickey, and the latter eagerly reciprocated the kiss. It was soft, loving; not like the kisses they usually have, with tongue and teeth and nomadic hands. Nonetheless it still affected Mickey greatly, making his head spin and his heart thump against his chest.

Ian peeled his lips off of Mickey’s, much to the latter’s chagrin. Mickey was overwhelmed by how much love Ian’s emerald eyes carried, and it was all for Mickey. Mickey fucking lucked out.

“You’re still my bitch, by the way,” Mickey joked and guffawed when Ian’s fingers slightly dug into his sides to tickle him. “Stop!”

“Take it back!” Ian exclaimed, not planning on stopping his assault. Mickey moved his hands away and wrestled with the redhead.

“You’re going down, Ginger,” Mickey laughed, an arm draped over Ian’s shoulder.

“No fucking way,” Ian grinned and pinned Mickey under him, both men breathing heavily. “Up for round two?” Ian inquired, cocking an eyebrow.

“Fuck yeah I am.”

 

***************

Mickey plopped a wad of bills on the sticky, chocolate coloured counter before plopping onto the stool. “Here’s your fucking baby rent.”

“Baby rent?” Svetlana inquired, checking the amount of money.

“Yeah,” Mickey responded, “child support or what have you.” The corners of her mouth quirked up a bit. “Whiskey. Leave the bottle.”

“Baby rent,” she repeated as she gave Mickey his order, shaking her head as if that was ludicrous.

“The fuck kind of name is Putin’s Paradise anyways?” Mickey asked, chugging down the bitter, clear liquid.

“A creative one,” his wife—was she his wife? Their marriage wasn’t legitimate—countered.

“Creative my ass,” Mickey grumbled, “why’d you even take this shithole?”

“Financial stability. For Kev, V, our children and I.” Her green eyes weren’t looking at Mickey.

“How’d that work out for you?”

“It didn’t.” Her green eyes flitted to Mickey’s sapphire ones—hard, rid of emotion. Mickey thought of soft emerald eyes that shined with happiness and love, and the stupid fucking butterflies wreaked havoc inside him. “Is that why you are here? To rub it in my face?”

“No,” Mickey answered, “came here to get drunk. Doesn’t seem like ‘Putin’s Paradise’ is fucking helping you out financially. Give the fucking place back to its rightful owners.”

“Don’t need your advice,” Svetlana snapped.

“You’re gettin’ it anyways.” Mickey refilled the tiny glass before swallowing it, the bitter taste sending his gullet on fire.

“When are you going to take Yevgeny again?” Svetlana inquired, and Mickey suppressed the urge to groan. He didn’t love Yevgeny; he _couldn’t_ love Yevgeny. Was it fair to the kid? No, absolutely fucking not. But the circumstance that Mickey was put into during the alleged conception of Yevgeny wasn’t fair either.

Mickey couldn’t look into those big forest green eyes without his stomach churning sickeningly. He couldn’t help but think about the dread and despair he felt mingled with the physical pain that day. He couldn’t help but think of the days he would cry himself to sleep at his situation, how the claws of sadness would dig themselves at the time, and how his stomach would tighten in fear whenever he saw his father.

Yevgeny was a constant reminder of that dreadful day, and there was nothing to love about that day. But no one understood besides Ian. They’ve never seen how it affects him, how his past torments him in his dreams. They’ve never seen how many tears he’s shed because of that day. Yet he tries because he doesn’t want the kid to grow up without a father figure.

“After the honeymoon.” His sapphire eyes were trained on the wooden counter, focusing on his shallow breathing, heart racing in fear. He hated that this still affected him this greatly, hated how weak it made him feel.

“That’s too long of a time,” Svetlana frowned.

Mickey shrugged. “Won’t have time for him.” _I can’t deal with him being around me._ He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself, keep the fear and anger at bay, but struggling to do so.

“It is still too long for him,” Svetlana said in a harsher tone. “You are his father.” Anger coursed through his veins, and his hand slammed onto the sticky counter with a loud _thud_ , startling everyone to silence.

“Goddamn it, I know that!” Mickey exclaimed suddenly. “I’m not fucking abandoning him, shut the fuck up!” Svetlana’s lips were pressed together, eyes blazing with suppressed anger. Mickey stared back with the same intensity, the anger still roaring inside him. Svetlana broke the impromptu staring competition, turning away from her baby daddy. Mickey’s anger wavered as he turned around at everyone staring at him, glowering at all of them. “The fuck are you all looking at?” Everyone suddenly busied themselves with one thing or another.

Svetlana avoided him for the rest of his time there. Fuck her, and fuck parenting too.

 

***************

“.. six, seven, eight,” Iggy counted, placing the wad of bills on the wooden table at the Milkovich residence. “Nine thousand dollars.” Both Milkoviches stared at the money. Mickey’s never seen that much money altogether before, and it had made him look at it in awe.

“I’m surprised you can count to nine,” Mickey taunted, breaking the silence, earning him the middle finger from his brother. Mickey was slightly inebriated, easily shoving the memory of him bursting into a fit of anger to the back of his head.

“I unload your fiancé’s meth, and you joke about my intelligence?” Iggy inquired, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I’m hurt.”

Mickey grinned. “I’m kidding. Thanks, man.” He clapped his brother’s shoulder companionably.

“Am I invited to the wedding?”

“Yeah.” He heard the click of a door opening and froze in place as his homophobic older brother stroll in. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, faggot,” Joey sneered. Mickey bristled at the slur, anger clouding his mind.

“Ay,” Iggy interjected, “no need to throw fucking slurs at him.”

“You seriously gonna defend the queer?” Joey snarled.

Mickey raised his left hand to brush his knuckle against his nose, laughing bitterly. “Fuck off, Joey.” However, Joey wasn’t paying attention to a word his brother was saying. His ocean blue eyes were on the silver ring around Mickey’s ring finger.

“You married to a man?” Joey inquired.

“Seriously, Joey, leave him alone,” Iggy tried again, immediately coming to his little brother’s defense.

“None of your fucking business,” Mickey growled, grabbing the nine grand and heading towards the door. He wasn’t going to engage into a fight, especially with a homophobic asshole like Joey.

“Aww, did I hurt your sensitive feelings?” Joey inquired sardonically, “you gonna go home and cry about it to your faggot?”

The resolution of not pummelling the fucker was gone. Mickey was seeing red as he turned to Joey, raising his eyebrows. “The fuck you call him?”

“I called him a fag—” He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because Mickey’s fist connected against his face with a sickening crack. Mickey got a couple blows in before Joey threw him to the ground, kneeling down to throw punches himself. “Fucking fudge packer!”

Mickey pushed him onto his back and straddled his stomach, mercilessly punching his older brother. Anger possessed his body, pushing any other thoughts he had out of his head. Joey’s hands reached Mickey’s throat and choked him, squeezing his windpipe.

Mickey saw stars, choking pathetically as Joey added more and more pressure onto his windpipe.

“Get the fuck off of him!” Iggy exclaimed and pulled Mickey off of Joey, the youngest brother in a fit of coughs, touching his throat. “What the fuck, Joey?!” Iggy’s eyes were wild with shock.

“He hit me first!”

“So that meant you had to choke the guy?!” Iggy turned to Mickey when the latter ceased his coughing. “Take the money and go home.” He helped his younger brother up, taking the disregarded money and handing it to Mickey. Mickey nodded, his throat hurting too much to speak, and staggered out the door, hiding the money in his coat.

Mickey didn’t know when he started crying, but he felt the salty liquid touch his cuts, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. He chalked it up to his injuries that he received. His throat burned intensely, and he didn’t dare open his mouth to speak.

His tears stopped flowing when he walked into the L, but his body ached. He felt like crap, and was sure he looked worse than he felt, judging by the looks “discreetly” thrown his way. He didn’t give a fuck what they thought.

He had thought he would get peace and quiet—and hopefully, see Ian—but he walked in on Mandy yelling into her phone and no Ian.

Wait.

Where was Ian? His heart beat accelerated, beating hard against his ribcage that contained it. Images of Ian passed out—or dead—appeared in his head, and he internally panicked.

Mandy sighed angrily and hung up before looking at her bloodied brother, eyes widened in surprise. “The fuck happened to you?”

Mickey grimaced at her question, but didn’t answer it. “Where’s Ian?” he barely whispered, throat igniting in pain. His hand flew to his neck, wincing a bit. _Fuck._

“The fuck happened to your voice?” Mandy inquired.

“Where’s Ian?” He repeated.

“Sit down,” Mandy instructed and Mickey did so. He watched Mandy rummage for the first aid kit with the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut as she answered his question. “I don’t know. He’s not answering his phone.” Mickey panicked internally and stood up. “Hey! Sit.” Mickey glowered at her with his one good eye, and Mandy returned his glare. “Sit.”

Mickey reluctantly sat down and Mandy kneeled in front of him, tending to his injuries.

“What happened, Mick?” Mandy inquired. Her voice was gentle, nurturing; like their mother.

“Joey,” he answered, a new wave of pain in his throat stunned him to silence.

“Joey?” Mandy looked at him, baffled. “How’d you meet Joey?” Not wanting to speak, Mickey got out a bundle of cash, hoping that Ian told Mandy about Iggy unloading meth. “Oh. So he beat the shit out of you?” Mandy inspected his neck. “Fucker choked you as well, apparently.”

Mickey nodded and averted Mandy’s pitiful gaze. He didn’t need her pity. “Ian.”

“He’ll come back,” Mandy promised. “Go sleep, asshole. I’ll wake you up when he comes back.”

 

****************

Mickey could not sleep, for a number of reasons; his body hurt too much, he didn’t have Ian, and images of Ian lying dead in a ditch kept clouding his mind. He sat up, wincing slightly, and grabbed his cigarette pack and lighter but thought better of it. His throat still hurt like crazy. He couldn’t help but crave the calming feeling that a cigarette would provide, and cursed himself for losing his shit the night prior.

He had called his stupid fucking fiancé at least 300 times but it always went straight to voicemail. His throat was in agonizing pain and he thought better than to talk, so he just hung up.

He was getting fucking homicidal.

He wondered if Ian was going through one of his manic episodes, and he tried to think of any sign of Ian being manic, but drew a blank. Ian was doing _so_ well and for him to just leave was out of the ordinary.

So he got out of bed and the mouth-watering smell of soup and the sight of pancakes cleared his head, and made his mouth salivate. He needed to eat, no matter how painful it may be.

He brushed his teeth and walked out to the table, watching Mandy talk on the phone. Her cerulean eyes landed on Mickey’s as Mickey sat down.

“Okay. Thanks.” She hung up and sighed. “That was Lip.” Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Jesus, Mickey, I was asking about Ian. I don't give a shit about Lip anymore.” Mickey’s eyebrows arched higher, urging for her to go on. “Said he was at their place last night and got into a heated argument with Fiona and she accidentally called him ‘Monica’.” She cringed. "Anyways, Ian left after that and.. he's nowhere to be found." Irritation crept up inside him.

Ian hated being related to Monica, more than anything. His fucking family knew that. Yet they didn’t see Ian as himself; they saw a piece of Monica’s spirit inside him and it wasn’t fucking fair.

Ian wasn’t Monica, Mickey knew that. He worked hard to be a functioning member of society and it wasn’t fair to him that his illness was thrown in his face in the heat of the moment. If Mickey was able to talk, he’d give Ian’s fucking sister a piece of his mind. But he couldn’t.

Fucking Joey.

Instead, he kept the rage pent up inside him and sipped on the soup Mandy made him—she claimed that it’d help with his throat—before swallowing the blueberry pancakes, ignoring the slight burn at the action.

He skipped out on going anywhere, too sore and anxious to leave the apartment. The place felt empty without anyone keeping him company. His ears were ringing, unable to adjust to the silence hanging over him like a cloud. He wondered if this was how Ian felt at his old place after his ex left him.

It wasn’t until noon that Mickey heard the door click open. He turned his head and saw his fiancé look absolutely horrible—eyes that were red, purple bags prominent under his eyes, shabby hair, and his pallid skin looking paler. Even though the taller man hadn’t looked good, Mickey’s heart thumped against his chest as relief washed over him.

He was alive, in one piece, and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this made me upset to type up tbh. i hated using slurs and stuff. hope y'all enjoyed tho


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the same day except in ian's POV

Ian was freezing his ass off as he was taking his smoke break at the back of the diner. However, he was too busy enjoying his cigarette to give a fuck. He watched the smoke dissipate into the dreary, cloudy sky. He was taking his time, even though his teeth were slightly chattering due to the cold.

He finished his cigarette and put it out before flicking it on the ground. He opened the stocky door and walked in, before closing it.

“Yo, Casper,” the chef, Julian called and Ian rolled his eyes. The chef had a habit of giving his co-workers names, and it always stuck, no matter how stupid it might be. Julian based Ian’s name on his pallid skin after joking about how he must get as red as his hair if he was out in the sun for too long.

“Got my food?” Ian inquired and Julian nodded. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.” Mickey had asked if Ian could sneak food out from their place—because everyone was too busy or too lazy to go grocery shopping—and Ian couldn’t say no. He wasn’t capable of saying no to his fiancé, and he didn’t know when he had lost that capability to do so.

Stealing food had its repercussions, so when he was stealing food he needed to be cautious. He carefully put the wrapped up food in the bag he brought to smuggle food right before his shift ended, put his coat on and walked out of the diner.

His wedding was just around the corner and he couldn’t wait for it to come. He was two parts excited and one part anxious. Marriage was a _huge_ responsibility to take on and Ian was ready for the responsibility, but would this choice negatively affect their relationship? God, he’d hoped not.

He wasn’t worried about the usual shit; falling out of love, or cheating. They were way too dick-whipped for each other and that was never going to go away. Every day, Ian fell harder for the shorter man; the magnetism between them gradually growing between them. He knew that Mickey felt the same way. You couldn’t fake what they had.

Infidelity wasn’t a problem. Ian had his mental illness in control. He wasn’t letting his bipolar possess him anymore.

Doubt still clouded his mind as he disembarked the L, walking home. He lined his key up with the hole before unlocking the door and being welcomed by an empty apartment. He hated it when the apartment was empty. It reminded him of his old apartment after Andre left.

The all-too-familiar feeling of loneliness crept up his throat and suffocated him. _Fuck._ He sighed and put the food in the fridge before deciding to take a shower.

He hated when he got attached, or used to something. He had gotten used to the chaotic way of the Gallaghers, the loud ruckus that would greet him in the morning and the bubbly chatter over breakfast as all of them pooled their money together to pay the bills.

And then he left, and became a go-go dancer who tried to adjust to the ways of the army after deciding off the cuff that he’ll get enlisted before he turned 18. He then got used to the stream of colours, the feel of air hit his almost-naked body, and the gaggle of men with money burning a hole in their pockets that lustily eyed him.

After that, he was back to the ruckus of his siblings, which didn’t take much time getting used to. What did take a fuckton of time getting used to was the medication prescribed for his bipolar. The medication killed off his emotions and he was a shell of what he used to be, even when he dated Andre.

Moving out and adjusting to the quietness—and freedom—of sharing an apartment with your partner wasn’t so hard. The loneliness after Andre left was something Ian never got used to.

And then he met Mickey, and he felt at home around him. He felt like he had come back home after being away from it for years. Mickey provided comfort in a way that anything—or anyone—else could.

Drying off and putting clothes after getting out of the shower, Ian decided to go to the Gallagher residence; be around chaos because emptiness was something Ian didn’t want to deal with that day. So he walked out and was welcomed inside by his family.

“You want anythin’?” Fiona asked, raiding their old fridge.

“Nah, I’m good,” Ian answered.

“Let’s catch up,” Fiona suggested as she sat in front of Ian at their wooden table. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

“The same,” Ian shrugged. He didn’t want to small talk. “Pretty excited for my wedding.” Fiona nodded, an unreadable expression on her face. Ian furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s..” she seemingly was mulling over something in her head, doe eyes trained on something over Ian’s shoulder, before shifting her gaze into her little brother’s emerald ones. “Nothing.”

“It’s something,” Ian straightened up, knowing what she wanted to say but evidently didn’t have the guts to say it. “If it’s bothering you, say it.”

“I..” she sighed, “don’t think this is the best idea for you.”

There it is.

“Don’t get mad,” she continued, “I want you to be happy—”

“I am,” Ian interrupted, his eyes steely.

“But I still have my doubts.”

“What doubts do you have?” Ian inquired, his voice quiet. As if he was afraid that if he said it any louder his voice would give way to the agitation he felt inside, the agitation he wanted to lock away.

“You’re so young,” she began, “you shouldn’t be in a rush to get married. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“I’m not in a rush,” Ian responded, “we’ve been together for almost two years, in love for longer than that.”

“You’re still so young, Ian. And he’s..”

Ian furrowed his eyebrows. “What? Spit it out, Fiona.”

“He’s not trustworthy. He’s runnin’ guns for fuck sake.” Ian immediately regretted previously talking to Fiona about it. Of course she’d throw it in his face. _Fucking idiot._

“I know him better than you do, okay?” Ian retorted, “I know you see him as a fucking thug but he’s not just that and it’s not fair to judge him based on the little information you have on him, when he has redeeming qualities. Hell, I’ve done worse things than gunrunning. I stole Lip’s ID, I was an underage prostitute, but it wouldn’t be fair to judge me on that alone.”

“That’s different,” Fiona countered.

“Bullshit, it’s different!” Ian exclaimed.

“You were sick!” Fiona shouted back.

“Just because I was sick doesn’t mean what I did was fucking okay, Fiona!” Ian threw his hands up in exasperation.

“And just because Mickey’s nice to you doesn’t excuse his illegal tendencies!”

“I never said it did!” Ian countered, standing up, “just give him a chance, and respect the fact that I want to get married to him, and I’m going to! I’m not a kid anymore!”

“I can’t just be okay with you being with a gunrunner, Monica!” Fiona froze, doe eyes widening as the realization dawned on her.

“There it is,” Ian said quietly and stormed out. He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew that he wanted a fucking drink. And not a non-alcoholic one, because fuck that. Fuck his blood, and fuck sobriety, and fuck trying to be stable.

Because when he tries everything he can to better himself but still be compared to his deceased mother who put drugs instead of her children first, he shouldn’t even bother trying to be better.

 

***************

The bed he had been sleeping on was soft as a feather. It was comfortable as fuck which contrasted the relentless pounding in his head. Ian slowly opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings and being scared when he realized that he was in a stranger’s home. The walls were the colour of mauve, abstract paintings placed together to look aesthetically pleasing. The bed itself had covers that were of zebra print, and the headboard was the colour of dark chocolate. Two nightstands were placed on either side of the bed, a lava lamp perched on one and an analogue clock on the other. A beanbag chair was in the corner, its colour matching the walls perfectly. Ian lifted the thick cover up to see that he was only in his underwear. _Fuck._ The room was silent save the _tick_ ing of the clock to Ian’s left.

Just then, a man walked in. “Oh good! You’re up. You’re probably starving. What would you like? We got toast, bacon, scrambled eggs—”

“Where am I?” Ian interrupted. “Who are you? Where are my clothes?” His voice was wavering in fear. He hated that. He took in the man. The man was lanky, approximately Ian’s height. He had sandy blond hair that was long, but didn’t touch his shoulders. His eyes were dark grey, and he had sun-kissed skin. Ian could take him if the man tried anything. Even with his hangover.

“I’m Dylan,” the man introduced himself, “you’re in the guest room of my house. Your clothes were pretty dirty if I do say so myself. I didn’t do anything other than take your clothes off, and I won’t do anything. Unless you say otherwise.” He bit his lip.

Ian got the implication. He was mystified as fuck, but the way Dylan’s eyes subtly raked over Ian’s frame as Ian got out of bed had sealed Ian’s assumption. “Sorry, man, I have a fiancé,” Ian informed him, “don’t plan on having anyone else. Try again with someone new.” He glanced over at the analogue clock again, and it indicated that it was almost noon. _Fuck, Mickey._ He turned his head to see Dylan still standing there and irritation built up inside him “My clothes.”

“Oh!” Dylan said suddenly, “yeah, right, sorry.”

Ian rushed to put his clothes on and practically ran to the L after getting the directions. He dragged a hand down his face as he sat down, guilt nipping away at him. He let his emotions get the best of him the night prior and Mickey, God, Mickey must have been so worried.

Ian had assumed he’d come back to an empty apartment, but was mildly surprised when he saw dishevelled black hair poking out from behind the couch. Words couldn’t explain the intensity of emotions he felt when he saw his fiancé’s face. Anger, shock, sadness, all mixed into one nasty cocktail of feelings.

Mickey’s eye was bruising badly—it was swollen shut, purple and blue blooming around it. He had other bruises staining his porcelain skin, and angry red marks were on his neck. Whoever he got into a fight with must have tried to choke him.

“Baby..” Ian breathed, at a loss for words. Mickey walked over to him, and Ian expected to be embraced. Instead, Mickey shoved him backwards, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough to make Ian stumble back. “The fuck?”

“I called you 300 fucking times, asshole, where the fuck were you?” Mickey inquired, his voice sounding funny, glowering at the redhead.

“I..” he sighed. “I got too drunk and passed out.” Mickey’s anger morphed into worry, and he cradled the back of Ian’s neck. The shorter man nuzzled the good side of his face against Ian’s before embracing the redhead. Ian immediately wrapped his arms around the shorter man, tucking his face into the man’s injured neck.

“Fuck, I was so worried about you.” Ian didn’t know how long they stood there like that, relishing in each other’s arms, as if Ian’s arms were Mickey’s sustenance and vice versa. They had gotten back to their old domesticated routine, except that Ian was passing a cup of a drink that was pretty much hot water and a couple globs of honey. Mickey raised his eyebrow at the drink before looking up at the redhead.

“It’s good for your throat,” Ian informed him, “drink up.” Mickey took a sip and closed his eyes, relishing in the comfort the drink gave him. “Who did this to you?”

“My brother,” Mickey answered, “Joey.”

“He’s homophobic?” Ian inquired, already knowing the answer to that question. Mickey nodded, as predicted.

Both men sat in silence; Mickey was enjoying his drink while Ian was watching him. Mickey was the one to break the silence. “I heard what happened last night. Between you and Fiona.” 

Ian sighed. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. She had no right calling you that. You’re not your fucking mom.” Ian averted his eyes from his fiancé. “Look at me.” Ian reluctantly looked at him. “You’re not Monica. You hear me? You’re medicated, working hard to be better and you’re actually fucking goin’ somewhere. And I’m fuckin’ proud of you.”

“No matter what I do, they’re still going to see me as her,” Ian sighed. “What’s the point of trying to be better if they’re still gonna see me as her?”

“To actually be a better person?” Mickey responded. “You’re not living to cater their fuckin’ expectations. Fuck what they think. Go take the GED. Go attend classes at Malcolm X. Go get a good fucking job. Not to prove that you’re not Monica, but for your own benefit. Can you do that for me?” His eyes—well, eye, since one was shut—were bright, looking at Ian expectantly.

“’Course I can,” Ian answered immediately. Because whenever Mickey asked for something from Ian, Ian couldn’t say no. He wasn’t capable of saying no to the love of his life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to answer your question in the previous chapter, ian didn't cheat. he passed out before dylan got to him.

Neither Ian nor Mickey had wanted to spend the night before their wedding away from each other. They had gotten used to their bodies pressed against each other, having the other man provide warmth. Ian got used to Mickey’s grumpy self in the morning and Mickey got used to Ian’s way-too-perky self—who usually reeked of sweat by the time Mickey was up—and they wanted to start off their wedding day right.

However, when they were discussing it a week before the wedding, the couple realized that they had no choice in the matter—being together the night before the wedding was “bad luck,” according to both Brielle and Mandy.

“‘Let them take care of it,’ you said,” Mickey grumbled later that day, “‘they won’t go fucking ballistic on us,’ you said.”

“Okay, firstly, I never said any of that,” Ian countered, and raised his hands in mock surrender when Mickey glared at him, “secondly, it’s only for a night. And then we’ll sleep together in a little bed for the rest of our lives.”

“I’m making you sleep on the couch on our wedding night,” Mickey announced, but his small smile assured the redhead that he wasn’t being serious.

“I’m  _already_ in the doghouse?” Ian sighed dramatically. “Fuck.”

“Fuck you, I’m bein’ serious,” Mickey grinned, and hit Ian with his shirt and folding it before placing it in the bag. He seemingly disregarded his bag afterwards and sat on Ian’s lap. “I can’t fuckin’ wait. I hate that I’ll have to be away from you before our wedding.”

“When’d you get so clingy?” Ian teased and his fiancé rolled his sapphire eyes. “I hate that I have to be away from you as well.”

“They’re actin’ like fucking Bridezillas and they’re not the ones getting married.”

“It’s only for a week and they’ll go back to themselves,” Ian stated, “besides, we’ll be away from them for a couple days.” He pressed his lips against Mickey’s neck tenderly, inhaling the sweet scent. “I’ll turn you out, baby.”

“Fuck, shut up,” Mickey groaned, “I can’t get hard.”

“Why not?” He bit Mickey’s lower lip.

“Cause I have work.” He cradled Ian’s face in his hands and gave Ian a kiss before getting out of Ian’s reach.

“Call in sick,” Ian offered.

“Can’t,” Mickey sighed. Ian watched Mickey fish for clean clothes that he didn’t pack in advance for their honeymoon, his yellowing bruises and healing cuts catching Ian’s attention. Ian’s blood boiled at the bruises. His fiancé didn’t deserve being pummelled and thrown gay slurs at. No one did.

“When am I going to see you again?” Ian inquired.

“In a couple of hours,” Mickey promised.

The week had flown by and before Ian knew it, it was the night before the wedding. Both Mickey and Ian were busy with their work schedules for the majority of their week. However they somehow managed to cram in spending time together, which was limited due to their clashing hours, much to their despair. Cunt was relentless ever since Ian asked for days, which she grudgingly gave. But that meant she was piling more and more hours onto his shift, which was tiresome.

By the time Ian’s bachelor party came along, he was worn out. He couldn’t wait until he could peace and quiet in their impending honeymoon.

“You seriously okay with me bein’ around shitfaced people trying to hit on me?” Mickey asked for the umpteenth time, while buttoning up one of his dress shirts. Ian nodded while he tried to fix his wild hair. They had agreed that Ian would crash at Casey’s while Mickey stayed at the apartment. Well, it was more of them reluctantly agreeing while Casey shrugging nonchalantly. Mickey was going out with Mandy, his other family members—that weren't homophobic assholes— and Mandy's coworkers to a club while Casey threw a party for Ian, which Ian will have to be sober in.

“Yeah,” Ian confirmed, “it’s just for tonight. I know you won't cheat on me.”

“Yeah,” Mickey echoed. “Don’t drink. At all. I don’t want that night fucking repeating itself.” Ian had told Mickey about where he was the night before while assuring his fiancé that nothing happened. He had known that he couldn’t hold his liquor down and he was really lightweight because of the lithium. His dick didn’t work at all when he was inebriated and he wasn’t sore when he had gained consciousness. He knew he wouldn’t consent to fucking anyone else other than Mickey, even in that altered state. However he didn’t trust Dylan enough to believe that Dylan didn’t try to touch him when he  _was_ unconscious. Everyone had an ulterior motive, Ian knew that. His stomach churned sickeningly at the thought, and he pushed it away.

“I won’t, baby,” Ian promised. He wasn’t going to fuck up this night.

As expected, Ian was uncomfortable at the party with the music thrumming inside him and drunk, sweaty bodies surrounded him. He walked out to the porch, and inhaled the crisp air as the house vibrated with the loud music. He was shortly accompanied by Casey sitting beside him, the latter as intoxicated as Ian was.

"Hey," Ian greeted.

"Hi. Party's too loud for you?"

"No, sobriety just fucking sucks right now."

"I get it," Casey nodded. "Nervous about tomorrow?" It was Ian's turn to nod. "Ay, things are gonna run smoothly. Don't worry."

"Things don't run 'smoothly' for me, C," Ian responded with a chuckle. "You'd know that by now."

"Things have been smooth with you and Mickey," Casey countered, "with a few exceptions, but.. all relationships like that. Plus, Mandy and Bri are running the show. They're fucking perfectionists."

Ian laughed. "They are. You getting serious with Mands?"

"Pretty sure I'm falling for her," Casey answered, and Ian was surprised at the honesty. "So that's pretty serious if I do say so myself."

"Seriously?" 

"Yes, Riding Hood, it is se—"

"No," Ian interrupted, "you're falling for her?"

"Yeah," Casey responded. In the glow of the street lights, Ian could see Casey's cheeks tinge with red. "How do you not fall for her? She's kind, funny, witty.. perfect."

"You got it bad," Ian commented.

"No shit," Casey laughed. "Guess we lucked out in the relationship department."

"Yeah," Ian conceded. His mind filled with bright, beautiful sapphire eyes that held so much depth of emotions, soft raven hair that Ian loved running his hands through, creamy skin Ian couldn't get enough of, and a pair of full, pink lips that Ian loved kissing. "We did."

 

***************

“A bundle of nerves” was a  _huge_ understatement as to Ian was feeling the next morning. His hands shook violently and his stomach tightened in knots, while his mind was clouded with thoughts.

He wasted hours upon hours dreaming about this day ever since marriage was brought up. And it was fucking scary as all hell. However, he felt exhilarated at the same time. This was happening. He was not daydreaming; he was going out there to tie the knot. His trembling fingers fumbled with getting the tie around his neck, but failing to do so.

“Here,” Lip offered, and tied the tie. He glanced up at his younger brother. “You having second thoughts?”

“No.” The answer was immediate as he shook his head vehemently. “I’m just nervous.”

“Have a smoke, man,” Lip suggested and Ian nodded. That would provide the serenity that Ian was currently lacking at the moment. He took a cigarette out and lit it with shaking hands, inhaling the smoke. The desired affect was almost immediate, Ian’s shoulders sagging.

“Fuck,” Ian exhaled the smoke. “I needed that.”

“Yeah,” Lip nodded, “seemed like you did.” Both brothers stood there in silence. “Still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re getting married.”

“Yeah, I can’t either,” Ian admitted, laughing slightly.

“Fingers crossed this doesn’t go to shit like the last wedding we were at,” Lip grimaced at the memory.

Ian couldn’t help but grimace as well. The wedding had seemed to start out smoothly, only to end up in tears and dunking their drunkard of a father into the sea. Ian never understood how Frank could hurt his family like that without ever flinching. “Bipolar queer” bounced around in Ian’s head and the redhead took another drag.

Nothing was going to dampen his mood today. Not his past, or his family. He was getting married to the love of his life and he’s not going to let himself dwell on the negative shit for too long; he deserved to be happy today.

“We gotta go,” Lip informed Ian  after a couple of beats of blissful silence and Ian nodded, exhaling slowly through his nose and putting out the cigarette and in the small, hoary ashtray provided.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Ian muttered. Both brothers walked out and Ian felt the heavy weight of all eyes on him as he made his way to the altar.

Ian stood beside Casey, chest constricting in emotions. They had agreed on not having groomsmen or a best man up there with them. His emerald eyes were at the doorway, chest tightening uncomfortably with anxiety and excitement.

Finally, his husband-to-be walked down the aisle. Ian almost wept at the sight of the angelic man walking towards him. Mickey’s tux was a deep blue, making his already bright, sapphire eyes stand out. His raven hair was sleeked back. His bruises and cuts were nowhere to be seen, his creamy skin unblemished. His puffy pink lips were pulled back into a shy smile. Everything about Mickey took Ian’s breath away.

“Hey,” Mickey greeted quietly when he’d made it to the altar, standing in front of Ian.

“Hi,” Ian greeted back, just as quietly, taking Mickey’s hands into his own ones, and squeezing tightly. Mickey’s hand squeezed back. Emerald eyes locked into sapphire ones, which gazed back with adoration.

“Dearly beloved,” Casey began, “we are gathered here today, to join these two men in the bonds of holy matrimony. I’d like to say a few words about these two. I have known both Mickey and Ian for a couple years now, and I cannot imagine two people more perfect for each other.”

“Hurry up,” Mickey muttered, “we don’t have all the fucking time in the world.”

“Ian and Mickey,” Casey continued slowly, earning an exasperated look from the shorter man. Casey grinned momentarily before talking, “have been through a lot together. They’ve always stood by each other. Their love is rare and strong; even as an outsider looking in you can see the unconditional love they have for each other. I am honoured to be witnessing these men who are madly in love with each other proclaim their love to the world. Let’s get on with the vows. Mick?”

Mickey took a deep breath before speaking. “I never thought I’d have this. Have someone that I would want to spend the rest of my life with. But ever since the day I met you, I have wanted to spend all my waking moments with you. You’re the reason I want to wake up in the mornings, so I can see your face looking at me. I’ve never been this content with life and it’s all because of you.” Tears welled up in Ian’s eyes, blurring his vision. He willed himself to hold them back. Mickey’s thumb soothingly rubbed the back of Ian’s hand.

“Growing up, I didn’t know what love was. But you opened my eyes, loved me even when I couldn’t love myself. And for that, I will be thankful for that. I promise to stand by your side through everything; good times, bad times, sickness, health, and everything in between. You’re my best friend, the love of my life, my reason to smile.. my everything. I don’t want to spend another day without you. I’ve lived without you before, and I don’t want to anymore. I love you, more than words can explain. And I can’t wait to spend forever with you.” Ian’s heart swelled up inside his chest, threatening to burst at any given moment.

“Ian?” Casey prompted. Ian swallowed down the lump of emotions.

“I was in going through a rough patch when I met you,” Ian started, voice thick with emotions, “but meeting you had made everything brighter for me. Striking up a conversation with you was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. You make me enjoy life again. The love I have for you is unfathomable. I’ve never felt this strongly for anyone else.

“You are one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met. You are loyal, loving, and you have a heart of gold. I am so lucky to have met a man like you. I can’t imagine living without you, and the thought itself is unbearable.” He wasn’t able to stop the tears from spilling. “I was meant to spend the rest of my life with you.”

"Cheesy, man," Mickey teased quietly, his own eyes glossed over with tears.

"Shut up," Ian said, no malice behind his voice.

“Goddamn it,” Casey cursed, sniffling slightly, which earned him a chorus of wet laughs. “Alright, alright,” he shushed the crowd with a small grin. “Do you, Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich, take Ian Clayton Gallagher to be your husband, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, honour him, to keep him for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Mickey answered immediately.

“Do you, Ian Clayton Gallagher, take Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich to be your husband, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, honour him, to keep him for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”

“I do,” Ian nodded vehemently. Both men exchanged their rings before exhaling deeply and glancing at Casey.

“By the powers vested in me by the state of Illinois and the interwebs, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss.”

Ian pulled Mickey close before fervently kissing him, the shorter man hugging his neck. Both men let the tears flow freely, pooling at their connected lips. Ian pulled back to look at his husband, ignoring the applause surrounding them.

Mickey was his, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm emotional FUCK
> 
> \- Gaylagher


	9. Chapter 9

“All set?” Ian inquired, looking up at his husband while he shrugged on a hoodie.

“No,” Mickey answered, still packing the essentials for their honeymoon. “Why the fuck do I need to pack another pair of underwear? I’ll wear one of yours. You probably packed enough underwear to last you a fuckin’ month, even though we’re there for three days.”

“You’re gross,” Ian teased, making Mickey to look up at him. “You don’t wear others’ underwear.”

“I’ve had my tongue in your ass before,” Mickey countered, “We’ve also shared your toothbrush. We’ve crossed the line of ‘gross’, Ginger.” He zipped his bag and sat on their tiny bed.

“Or,” Ian began, straddling his husband’s lap, “you can go commando.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mickey grinned.

“Mhm.” Ian lowered his head to slot their lips together, and Mickey fervently reciprocated, deepening their kiss. The room suddenly dissipated and Ian slowly lost himself in Mickey, never wanting to be found again. Mickey pushed Ian onto the bed, deepening the kiss, sneaking his hands under Ian’s hoodie and shirt to touch his taut stomach.

His hands felt warm and calloused against Ian’s kiss, setting Ian’s insides on fire. His skin tingled everywhere Mickey touched, while his lips were starting to get sore from all the kisses as their tongues danced lazily.

Mickey trailed kisses down to Ian’s neck, sucking on his pulse. Ian’s eyes closed, relishing in the soft lips on his skin. Mickey’s unkempt hair tickled his cheek as the smack of lips mingled with the heavy, shaky exhales Ian was letting out. Ian didn’t pay attention to the door opening; he was too busy savouring the lips that were slowly making their way to his collarbone while Mickey’s fingers untied the lace of Ian’s sweatpants.

“Jesus, can you two keep your lips off of each other for five seconds?” Mandy groaned.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Mickey griped, getting off of the redhead. Ian sat up, a blush creeping up his neck while he tied the lace of his sweatpants again, and Mickey spread Ian’s legs apart to sit between them.

“Sorry, Mands,” Ian apologized, snaking his arms around his husband, “what’s up?”

“Casey’s car is coming in about five minutes,” Mandy informed the newlyweds. “You guys done packing?”

“I thought we were taking the L,” Mickey responded curtly, and sucked his teeth in annoyance when Ian kissed his neck, his craving of Ian’s lips on him killed by his stupid fucking sister. “Stop.”

“Think again, peabrain,” Mandy retorted. “You done packing?”

“Yeah,” Ian kissed Mickey’s shoulder through his shirt, which made the latter even more agitated. “We’ll be out in a couple minutes.” He kissed Mickey’s cheek. Mickey turned his head to glower at Ian.

“Alright,” Mandy nodded, “now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna try to forget the fact that I was close to walking in on my brother sucking my best friend off.”

“If you walk in without knocking again, your brother will fuckin’ suck your best friend’s dick right in front of you,” Mickey threatened, which earned him two middle fingers from his little sister. Mickey’s tattooed fingers circled Ian’s wrists, unwrapping lanky arms from around his torso, before getting up. “Before we go, I wanna show you something.”

“What is it?” Ian inquired, intrigued by what his husband wanted to show him.

“Never thought I’d be the type,” his husband sighed. “This is why I refused to take my shirt off during the fuck-fest last night.” Ian bit his lip, recalling the consummation of their marriage.

“That was hot,” Ian admitted.

“Yeah,” Mickey conceded with a grin while pulling his shirt off. Ian’s eyes travelled to the gauze under Mickey’s collarbone and Mickey carefully removed the thin fabric covering his skin. Under the fabric was Ian’s name etched onto the creamy skin. Ian’s lips parted in shock while his chest constricted in a hurricane of emotions.

“My name’s on there,” Ian stated.

“Congrats, man, you’re not fucking illiterate,” Mickey responded sarcastically, rolling his sapphire eyes. In any other condition, Ian would’ve come back with a witty response, but his mind was blank. He was floored by the devotion of his husband.

“Fuck,” Ian cursed.

“Is it that horrible?” Mickey raised his eyebrows, prompting Ian to shake his head vehemently.

“No, I..” Ian swallowed hard, brain racking for words. “I love it.”

“Yeah?” Mickey grinned.

“Yeah.”

 

***************

Ian thought he died and went to heaven when he set foot into Club Med Sandpiper Bay. Gargantuan palm trees brushed the light blue sky that stretched over them, leaves swaying slightly in the breeze, providing shade from the relentless sun beating down on them.

“Fuck,” his blue-eyed angel beside him breathed.

“Yeah,” Ian conceded, swinging his bag over his shoulder after getting out of the Uber. It was late February, which meant that it was winter. The weather in this part of Florida has yet to get the memo. Ian and Mickey had changed into clothes that had thin fabric; Ian was wearing Mickey’s tank top—which Mickey grudgingly gave—and ditched his sweatpants for shorts while Mickey sported a Hawaiian shirt with jeans.

Both men walked into the resort, eyes raking the spacious place, which was buzzing with people of all ages.

“Great,” Mickey groaned, “kids. Yay.”

"Kids aren't bad," Ian argued.

"They're the tiny human version of Lucifer himself," Mickey countered.

"That's blasphemous." Ian furrowed his eyebrows. "I think."

"Your face is blasphemous," Mickey responded.

"That makes no fucking sense, birdbrain."

"Fuck off."

When they did get to their room, Ian took in the place. The walls were rhubarb red, with a queen-sized bed in the middle, pillows perched on the head of the bed while a chocolate brown cover was placed over the rest of the bed.

“Hey, there’s a cooler here,” Mickey grinned and opened a door under the TV. “Fuck, there’s beer and wine.” He pulled the wine out, inspecting it.

“They make you pay for that shit,” Ian informed his husband. “I think. The last time I’ve been in a hotel was with—” With one of his clients back when he worked as an underage prostitute. Ian swallowed hard, pushing his past down. He wasn’t going to think about the past; he was going to start fresh with his husband.

“Really? Fuck. Fuck them for not letting  me enjoy free alcohol.” Mickey grumbled. Both men ignored the unfinished sentence, much to Ian’s relief.

“Yeah,” Ian answered. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” He kissed the top of his husband’s head before heading to the bathroom.

When he had gotten out with a towel wrapped around his hips loosely, Mickey was sitting on the edge of the bed, on the phone. His sapphire eyes landed on Ian’s frame, hungrily raking them over the redhead’s abs, pecs and v line. “I’ll talk to you later,” Mickey mumbled, hanging up the phone.

“I was thinking of checking the place out,” Ian informed Mickey as the raven-haired man pulled Ian to him, making Ian stand between his legs. Ian sighed in pleasure as Mickey followed a water droplet with his tongue.

“We’ll do that,” Mickey promised against the skin before kissing dangerously close to Ian’s crotch, “but I want a piece of you first.”

Ian’s dick twitched at his husband’s husky voice and got on the bed, and Mickey ardently kissed Ian. The kiss was all tongue and teeth and itinerant hands. Mickey pulled back when both men were naked, and Ian practically whined when his husband broke off the kiss. “Come back here.”

“Hold on,” Mickey responded, grabbing the lube packet he had gotten out when Ian was in the shower and the bottle of wine he was inspecting previously from the nightstand beside him and unscrewed the cork before pushing his husband back on the bed.

Ian felt the cold liquid of wine on his chest and looked at Mickey, baffled. “The fuck?” Mickey straddled his hips and leaned down, lapping at the red liquid, lightly sucking and kissing the pallid skin as well. “Oh, fuck.” Mickey ripped the packet of lube, slicking his own fingers up with it and prepped himself, moaning against Ian’s skin as he continued to pour wine and lap it up, until he got to Ian’s hard, red cock that was already leaking with precum.

“Fuck,” Mickey cursed and licked the precum after pulling his own fingers out of him, and took Ian’s cock in his mouth. He tongued the vein while bobbing his head. Ian’s head lolled back into the soft pillows, moaning.

Mickey pulled off with a pop, and straddled Ian’s hips again. Ian whined at the loss. “Ride me.”

“Beg,” Mickey demanded.

“Please ride me,” Ian begged, “I need to be in your tight ass, baby, please.” He didn’t care how pathetic he sounded, he needed to be inside Mickey more than anything.

Mickey grinned and grabbed Ian’s cock, lining it up with his hole, before sinking down on it, both men moaning at the action. He used his strong thigh muscles to ride Ian’s cock, and wrapped his fingers around Ian’s throat, squeezing with his thumb and fingers, releasing for a few seconds before squeezing again.

Ian moaned, head spinning due to the choking, making the sex much better than it already was. He angled his hips to hit Mickey’s prostate, the latter’s moans gradually getting louder.

Neither man lasted that long, Ian shooting his load first. Ian’s vision went white and his head spun like crazy. By now, he was speaking jargon. Mickey shot his load onto Ian’s chest, panting at the exertion.

Ian knew for sure that the three days at the resort are going to be the best three days of his life.


	10. Chapter 10

Rejuvenated from his nap that he was in dire need of—because the couple have been going at it non-stop, which had tired Ian out—he made his way down to the mini bar that his husband was probably at. The sky, which was currently the colour of ebony, stretched out over them, with a thin veil of clouds covering it. Fluorescent lights brightened the resort.

Ian saw a pile of raven hair and sapphire eyes trained on a man that was seemingly flirting with Mickey, Ian’s husband’s body turned to face the man while resting his arm on the rustic gold countertop of the bar. The burning sensation of jealousy pooled in his stomach and he stalked over to his husband, snaking his arms around Mickey from behind. “Hey, baby.” Ian greeted. Mickey turned his head to look at Ian and grinned.

“Hey. Sleep well?” Mickey inquired. The anonymous man didn’t take their public display of affection as a cue to leave, much to Ian’s chagrin.

“Mhm.” His eyes flitted to the man seated beside them, pretending to just take notice of him. “Who’s he?” Ian asked his husband.

“Brandon,” the man answered. _I didn’t ask you, butt out._

“What he said,” Mickey nodded towards Brandon. Ian still clung onto Mickey. “Brandon, this is my koala in his human form.” Brandon laughed while Ian pursed his lips slightly. “His name’s Ian.”

“I’m his husband,” Ian clarified.

“Okay,” Brandon laughed a bit. “I’m gonna go.” And with that he left. Mickey turned in Ian’s arms so he was facing the counter, leaning in to kiss Ian, only for the latter to let go and step back.

“Leave me hangin’, why don’t you?” Mickey griped and sipped the remaining alcoholic beverage he had in his hand.

“Fuck you for being so hot.” Ian settled onto a stool next to his husband.

Mickey furrowed his eyebrows. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know!” Ian sighed exasperatedly. “I hate it when others flirt with you. It pisses me off.”

“Jack Daniels and orange juice,” Mickey informed the bartender. “Why does it fucking matter who flirts with me?”

“What will you have?” The bartender asked Ian.

“Cloudwater Winter Wheat,” Ian informed her. Mickey opened his mouth to audibly show his disapproval but Ian cut him off. “I'll only have this one drink. Anyways, my answer to your question is; beause they’re flirting with what’s mine. Tell ‘em to fuck off next time.”

“If I say I will, will you give me a fuckin’ kiss?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

Ian smiled and leaned over to slot their lips together. It was sweet, tender, and full of never-ending love and devotion. Ian hadn’t thought that he’d still have feelings for Mickey but here he was, two years later, still very much in love with the same man.

Long-term commitment wasn’t ever really Ian’s forte; the exhilaration and craving of his previous boyfriends would slowly weaken as time went by, and Ian would usually lose interest and dump the man. But with Mickey, Ian’s feelings magnified in the duration of their relationship.

Mickey still managed to make Ian’s heart beat thump against his chest rapidly, make his chest constrict with the intensity of emotions that he felt, and made his stomach fill with butterflies fluttering irately.

“Your drinks, lovebirds,” the bartender informed the newlyweds, making Mickey peel his lips off of to glare at the bartender.

“Fuck off, Sandy,” Mickey grumbled. Ian took in their bartender. She was curvy, with voluminous platinum blonde hair and eyes that had fragments of jade and milk chocolate. The two colours swirled together like moss creeping over rich soil.

“Sandy?”

“From Grease,” the raven-haired man stated.

“Ah,” Sandy nodded, “usually don’t get that. I get Bottle Blonde a lot.”

“Unoriginal,” Mickey shook his head. Ian drank and listened to the banter between the two, occasionally butting in with a witty comeback as the hours of the night quickly passed by, full of laughter and alcohol.

 

**************

Sandy had suggested going to Jensen Beach, astonished by the fact that neither man had ever been to a beach. Sun-bleached sand covered the ground, slightly warm under their bare feet. The cries of seagulls and calming sounds of waves crashing onto the rocks filled the air. The colour of the ocean was bright blue, matching the colour of the sky above it. The salty smell of the ocean filled the air and hit Ian’s nostrils.

Rivulets of water sneaked onto the sand and wet Ian’s feet as he admired the scenery before him, committing the littoral view to memory. The beauty of the beach was not exaggerated.

“Ginger,” Mickey called, walking over to his husband. “Are you okay?” Ian noticed that he hadn’t uttered more than five words since they’ve arrived at the beach. The splendorous place had robbed him of words, and silence didn’t sit well with Mickey. Usually silence meant Ian was harboring feelings. However, this case was the exception.

“Yeah,” Ian nodded, running his hand through his tousled, copper hair. “This place is.. gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” his husband echoed.

“Wanna go for a swim?” Ian suggested, tearing his eyes away from the horizon to look at Mickey. Mickey’s ebony hair was tousled slightly, and he sported a pair of sunglasses to shade his eyes from the glare of the sun. He looked serene.

“Can’t swim,” his husband admitted, smiling shyly.

“Really?” Ian inquired, all-too-fascinated by the new information. “Huh. We can walk along the shoreline.”

“Like a couple of old fucking queens?”

“Exactly like.” Ian grinned. However, his husband caved and they walked side by side. Mickey’s knuckles brushed Ian’s and before Ian could register what was happening, the raven-haired man linked their pinkies together. “That’s cute, babe.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey laughed.

If Ian could hit the pause button on his life at that moment, he would. Everything was perfect. Every obstacle hurled his way, every pain inflicted on him, every time he felt like throwing in the towel was all worth it. He found his light at the end of his tunnel after years of suffering; whether it be because of where he grew up, his denial of his sexuality, or his mental illness. All of it was worth it.

“You think we can move down here sometime in the future?” Ian asked hopefully.

“And leave your close-knit family behind?” Mickey teased, smiling.

“You’re my family now,” Ian responded solemnly.

“Ah, fuck you for making things all sappy,” Mickey chuckled. “Of course we can.”

“Yeah?” Ian smiled, “you wouldn’t miss your family?”

“Which ones?” Mickey inquired, “the ones who hate the fact that I’m ‘mo, or Mandy and Iggy?” Ian still hurt to hear the pain his husband endured day after wretched day over something about him he couldn’t stifle or modify. It wasn’t fair.

“Mandy and Iggy,” Ian answered, averting his gaze from the side of Mickey’s profile, smothering the twinge of pity inside him.

“I’d miss them,” Mickey admitted, “but I’d have you. You had my back more than they ever fuckin’ did. Besides, it’s not like I’d never see them again.”

“Right.” Ian nodded. He clamped his mouth shut and enjoyed the company of his husband while they walked barefoot, pinkie in pinkie.

 

****************

Articles of clothing were hastily peeled off one by one as soon as they got to their suite. Ian lifted Mickey off the ground, leaving the shorter man no choice but to wrap his legs around Ian’s slim waist, their pairs of lips never leaving each other.

Ian sat down on the bed, prompting his husband to push him down. “Have you ever bottomed?” Mickey mumbled against Ian’s lips.

“Couple times,” Ian admitted, tangling his fingers in the obsidian black hair while his husband sucked on his neck.

“Wanna bottom for me?” With any other man, Ian would’ve flat out said no. Bottoming was non-negotiable for him. But Mickey was different, and the probability of saying no to Mickey was 0.

So it didn’t surprise the redhead when he agreed to bottom. Mickey grabbed the lube from the nightstand and ripped the packet open before generously coating his fingers with the slimy substance.

“I’m gonna go easy on you, okay?” Mickey lowered his fingers to Ian’s tight hole, finger grazing the ring of muscle.

Ian nodded. “Okay.” Mickey’s finger breached Ian’s hole, the latter hissing in pain and pleasure. The burning sensation gave way to pleasure as Mickey rubbed his prostate. Ian moaned, rolling his head back, closing his eyes when soft lips pressed against his throat.

Mickey licked a stripe along the outline of Ian’s throat with his tongue, nibbling softly, making quick work of opening his husband up. Ian let out a guttural groan.

“Fuck, get in me,” Ian urged, and the older man smiled against his neck before pulling his fingers out and applying lube on his cock. He lined his cock with Ian’s opening, and thrust in slowly at first, before gradually picking up the speed.

Mickey’s hands grabbed Ian’s, intertwining their fingers together to give him leverage as he resumed the attack on the copper-haired man’s neck, moaning against the skin.

The mingled sound of skin slapping against skin, lips smacking on skin, soft grunts and guttural moans filled the air. Mickey angled his hips to hit Ian’s prostate and Ian moaned loud. “Right there, baby.” Mickey’s lips caught Ian’s, engaging in a sloppy kiss.

Ian’s vision slowly went white as he shot his load onto Mickey’s stomach after a while, Mickey shooting his own load inside Ian. Both men were heaps of sweaty, tangled limbs, breathing heavily. Mickey lowered his head onto Ian’s damp chest, his hair tickling Ian’s chin. “You’re a loud bottom. My bitch is a loud, needy bottom.”

“Fuck off,” Ian laughed.

“Don’t want to,” Mickey responded as Ian ran his fingers through inky black hair. “Ever.”

“Then don’t.”


	11. Chapter 11

A chorus of birds chirped outside their wide window, palm trees stretching over and shielding their rhubarb red room, sunlight seeping in and illuminating the place. It was beautiful; heavenly even.

However Ian paid no attention to that. His eyes were on the angel splayed on his stomach on their comfy bed, chocolate brown duvet covering his bare body from the world. Ian was on the fence about letting his husband sleep and waking his husband up with Ian’s tongue in him. Ian was famished, but it wasn’t food he wanted to taste.

Thinking with his dick, he pulled off the duvet and got on top of his husband, peppering kisses on the creamy skin of Mickey’s neck, causing the latter to smile sleepily, eyes still closed. Ian’s lips kissed down Mickey’s back, until he got to two pale mounds. Ian bit one of the mounds gently before spreading the cheeks.

“I’m starving,” Ian announced, narrowing his tongue and thrusting it inside Mickey’s puckered hole, darting it in and out of it. Mickey hissed into the pillow, as Ian continued to open him up with his tongue. Ian abruptly got up.

“Bitch, what the fuck?” He watched Ian fish in Mickey’s bag, until Ian’s hand closed around a spherical object, pulling it out. A huge grin appeared on Mickey’s lips as Ian grabbed lube and made his way onto the bed. Mickey got onto his hands and knees, anticipating the rotund object being shoved into his ass.

Ian coated one of the beads with the slimy substance before slowly inserting one inside Mickey, making Mickey let out a chain of raspy moans. Mickey dropped his head between his shoulders, biting his lip, face contorted with pleasure. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Mickey confirmed, “put another one in.” And Ian did, repeating the process. When the second bead was inside his husband, Ian’s hand dropped to Mickey’s hard cock, jerking him off. Tattooed fingers gripped the pillows tightly. Mickey’s moans made Ian’s dick come to life, straining against the seam of his pants. “Pull ‘em out,” Mickey instructed shortly afterwards, “real slow.”

Ian complied, cautiously pulling the beads out. A slew of curses tumbled out of Mickey’s mouth, followed by a loud, raspy moan. Mickey shot his load into the ivory sheets, panting. Ian, however, still had his raging erection to take care of.

Mickey noticed the protuberance in his pants and lowered Ian onto the bed before kissing and sucking on Ian’s collarbone. Ian let out a sputtering sigh, closing his eyes. Mickey’s lips trailed down to Ian’s nipple, tongue gingerly tracing the areola. Mickey trapped Ian’s nipple in his teeth, tugging somewhat. "Oh God, Mick," Ian moaned.

Warm, rough hands traveled down Ian’s taut stomach, lips following until they finally got to Ian’s cock. Ian lifted his hips as Mickey tugged on the waistband of his pants, presenting Ian’s painfully hard boner as Ian propped himself on his elbows. Mickey wet his lips and wasted no time in taking Ian’s cock in his mouth, bobbing his head. Ian’s tip brushed the back of Mickey’s throat, and Mickey deepthroated him, causing the amber-haired man above him to moan and tug on inky black hair.

“Fuck, you’re so good at that,” Ian murmured, “you’re made to take this fucking cock. Made for me.” Mickey looked up at Ian through his lashes, almost making Ian cum from that look alone. Ian watched his husband go to town on him until he felt the familiar tightening of his balls.

Ian hadn’t been able to choke out a warning as he shot his load down Mickey’s throat, making the latter cough a bit as he pulled off of Ian’s cock. “Thanks for the warning, bitc— _mmm._ ” He was cut off by Ian sitting up and ravenously kissing him.

Their tongues danced as Ian pulled his husband onto his lap, hands hugging Ian’s neck, Ian tasting the saltiness of his pleasure on Mickey's tongue. Ian loved how woozy and elated Mickey’s kisses made him feel. Shivers traveled down Ian’s spine, and every inch of his body tingled with euphoria. He loved how Mickey’s lips molded perfectly against his, how their tongues glided and twisted effortlessly with each other.

Mickey broke the kiss, his roseate, full lips darkened in colour and increased their size due to the passionate kiss they shared prior.

_I was made for you._

***************

While Ian was swimming, Mickey was perched on the chairs equipped around the pool for people who wanted to either bathe in the sun, or enjoy the warm weather at the end of February. Mickey, however, was enjoying his husband’s bare torso behind his tinted shades.

Ian mustered up the last bit of his energy to get out of the pool, ignoring the weight of eyes on him. Beads of water travelled down Ian’s chiselled torso, over the skin stretched tight on his prominent abs. They let their imagination run wild with assumptions of what Ian was packing under the teal trunks hanging on his hips.

Ian was a work of art and he wasn’t aware of it.

“Hey,” Ian greeted and plopped down on the chair next to his husband.

“Hi,” the onyx-haired man greeted. Mickey’s milky white skin that had a glow of its own darkened a shade due to the sun. Ian was slightly envious of all the people whose skin was capable of turning from doughy to bronze in the sun without burning like Ian’s skin did. “Sunscreen,” Mickey reminded Ian after Ian dried off with the towel provided.

“I fucking hate sunscreen,” Ian said with a huff before taking the bottle. It felt waxy and heavy on Ian’s skin. However, Ian would rather deal with the gross feeling than the feeling of his skin on fire after being sunburnt, so he covered himself with the substance everywhere he could touch. “Why can’t I tan like normal people?” he handed the bottle to Mickey, turning his back to Mickey, who squeezed a glob of the substance on his palm.

“Cause you’re Irish,” Mickey answered.

Ian rolled his eyes. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“Don’t mean I’m not allowed to answer your question.” The cold substance applied on Ian’s back made Ian blanch somewhat. Ian could feel warm, calloused hands roaming around his back immediately afterwards, the owner of those hands taking his time. Not that Ian minded.

Fingers skimmed along the skin covering the muscles and bones, the touches light and feathery, leaving Ian’s skin tingling in its wake. Ian swallowed hard, ignoring the irate butterflies desperate to escape the restraint of his stomach. Ian hated how his body responded to the simplest touches Mickey gave him. It made him feel antsy. At the same time, he loved it. He’s never had a clash of emotions this paradoxical.

The tingly feeling was nothing compared to how his body responded to Mickey’s billowy lips on his skin. When Mickey kissed Ian’s shoulder blade, the irate butterflies threatened to rip a hole in Ian’s stomach lining. His skin was ignited in fire and it wasn’t because of the sun. “Done,” Mickey whispered against the skin. Mickey pulled back and leaned back into his chair, sipping on a red liquid.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “You drink wine now?” Mickey stayed quiet for a couple of beats before turning his head to Ian.

“Oh, was that rhetoric? I can’t tell,” Mickey japed. Ian rolled his eyes and ran his stringy fingers through his damp, vibrant hair. “Yeah, I’ve had a craving of wine ever since I’ve licked it off of you,” he added slyly before taking another sip. If Mickey wasn’t wearing his shades Ian would’ve been able to see the glint of mischief in his azure eyes.

“We should do that again,” Ian offered.

“We are definitely fucking doing that again,” Mickey responded, “it was too hot not to.” He handed Ian the bottle of wine to taste it. Ian reminisced on the cool liquid on his skin, almost immediately replaced by the rough, wet feeling of his husband’s tongue.

Ian took a swig of the syrupy liquid and grimaced at the sugary taste. “It’s so fucking sweet.”

“I like ‘em sweet,” Mickey grinned. Ian knew that Mickey wasn’t specifically talking about edible things.

“Yeah?” Ian returned the grin. “That why you fell for me?”

“One of the main reasons, yeah,” Mickey conceded. Ian handed the bottle back to Mickey. “You’re also hot as fuck, which helped.” Ian chuckled.

“I’m not that hot,” Ian denied.

“Fuck off with that shit,” Mickey countered. “You’re fucking hot. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it. About fucking time you owned up to it. Why’d you think I got so pissed at anyone who flirted with you in the beginning of our relationship?”

“You’d think I’d dump your ass for them?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Well, I’m still with you,” Ian replied. “Gonna stay with you for as long as possible.”

Mickey gnawed on his lower lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

 

***************

Ian watched his husband pack half an hour before their flight back home. “Shouldn’t have procrastinated,” Ian chided without much scorn.

“Fuck you,” Mickey shot back, no malice behind it. He sighed when he finished. “Finally.”

“Yeah,” Ian grinned. “Hey, remember when I said I’ll get a dance out of you?” He remembered on how his husband flipped him off in response at their wedding rendezvous. Ian played a song on his phone.

“Remember when I told you to go fuck yourself?” Mickey replied, mimicking the redhead’s tone. “Also, Cigarettes after Sex? Really?”

“I could’ve chosen Elvis,” Ian countered, “but I didn’t.” He pulled his husband to him. “One dance. Please?”

Mickey sighed. “Fuck you for not taking no for an answer.” They danced, much to Ian’s pleasure, the velvety voice of the lead singer filling the room.

“Fuck you for being so unyielding,” Ian smirked.

“I’m dancing with you now, aren’t I?” Mickey bit his lip. “I’m not so unyielding.”

“When it comes to me,” Ian added.

“When it comes to you,” his husband confirmed. “You’re the same. Can’t say no to me for shit.”

“I know,” Ian responded. They both fell silent at Ian’s vague answer. Mickey lowered his head on Ian’s shoulder, pulling the taller man closer.

Ian felt like he was on top of the world. Not the way when he was having a manic episode; where he felt invulnerable, like nothing could crush him, no matter how tight their iron grip was.

He knew that he is, in fact, conquerable. He was aware that he was broken pieces of a whole, and the lightest of punches had the power to make Ian crumble into a puddle of helplessness.

However, he had his husband by his side to glue him back together when he broke apart again, and he had his husband to pick him back up. And for once in his life, Mickey had Ian to hold him when the ghosts of his past haunted him in his dreams.

Their obstacles were ephemeral, but what they had was permanent; indestructible, abiding, and the only thing in Ian’s life that wasn’t fluctuating rapidly.

It was them against the world from here on out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song theyre dancing to is "nothing's gonna hurt you, baby" by cigarettes after sex.
> 
> also i decided to be more descriptive in my writing. how'd you guys like it?
> 
> \- Gaylagher


	12. Chapter 12

A wave of acute pain spread through Ian’s jaw as Mickey rolled his hips, fucking Ian’s mouth while Mickey was propped on his elbows, slowly taking Ian down his throat. Ian groaned, the sound reverberating around the onyx-haired man’s cock. Ian kneaded the pale, full cheeks, and slapped one of them, leaving red, angry marks to the already marked body part.

“I’m close,” Mickey warned after pulling off, and put his mouth back on Ian’s full chub. Ian felt the familiar tightening of his balls as both men came in each other’s mouths together.

Mickey pulled his hips upwards and lowered himself onto the bed, moving so they were face-to-face. Both men were drained by cause of their humungous sexual appetites. Ian’s horniness didn’t worry him; he didn’t feel the indestructible feeling of mania, the insatiable sexual arousal pooling in his abdomen, or the pent-up, interminable energy thrumming through his body, waiting to be used up. He felt content, sated, level-headed and high on Mickey.

Even though he was wiped out and his eyes were heavy as steel, he kept them open to gaze at Mickey, the tips of their noses brushing against each other. “You good?”

“Mhm,” Ian responded.

“You look like you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”

“Am not.”

“Sure,” Mickey responded dubiously. “Did I tire you out, old man?” He was taken by surprise when the carrot-haired man flipped him back onto the bed, big hands pinning his own next to his head. Mickey’s eyebrows arched high up, touching his hairline while grinning ear to ear.

“First of all, you’re older than me,” Ian pointed out. “Secondly, I can go again,” He kissed his husband’s chin, “and again,” he kissed the spread of skin between Mickey’s jaw and his neck, “and again.” He peppered soft kisses on the shorter man’s throat, making the latter close his eyes and tilt his head back.

“I can’t,” the sloe-haired man sighed. “Faucet cum dispenser’s out of product.”

Ian lifted his head and arched an eyebrow. “Faucet cum dispenser?”

“Yeah, like a faucet soap dispenser, but instead of water, it provides cum,” Mickey responded, repressing a grin from appearing on his lips.

“You could’ve said ‘dick’ but _no,_ you had to go with that.”

“Where’s the fucking fun in that?” This time, he didn’t repress his grin. His smile was beautiful; it lit up his face like a Christmas tree, touching his azure eyes which sparkled in genuine happiness. Ian loved it. The butterflies in his stomach migrated to his chest, fluttering about.

“You’re impossible,” Ian scoffed and got off of Mickey. “Mandy’s gonna be home soon, and she’s gonna barge in and see us naked if we don’t get dressed.” They arrived home around dusk, and initially planned on napping together but their cocks had other plans.

“That’ll be her fuckin’ fault,” Mickey grumbled, “bitch needs to learn how to knock. And she will when she walks in on me blowin’ you.” He did tug on a pair of boxers and a wife-beater, Ian’s name peaking out from under the wife-beater.

“You’re an admirable brother,” Ian commented sardonically, earning him the middle finger from the coal-haired man. “And a hunky dory husband.”

Mickey grimaced. “Hunky dory? Really, Ginger? God, you’re such a dork.” He walked out their room, heading to the fridge, Ian hot on his heels.

“You’re the cat’s pajamas,” Ian grinned.

“Stop,” his husband groaned, “this is physically painful.” He pulled a can of beer out, cracking it open, the can eliciting a _crack_ and a _hiss._ Ian watched his burly biceps contract at the action.

“You love my dorky self,” Ian said.

“I do,” his husband responded. “Got hitched to you, didn’t I?” He leaned against the counter before tilting the can upwards, gulping down the bitter taste. His whitish skin was painted in shades of blue and purple, scattered all over his body. Ian felt something he couldn’t identify when he knew that he was the artist behind the artwork.

Mickey was a masterpiece, and Ian had always known that. His charcoal hair which usually was slicked back—but currently was a muss of hair—contrasted his pallid skin, and his piercing azure eyes which were hard as ice in public, but melted into pools of oceans when he’d gaze amorously at Ian. His body—which he was insecure of—was beautiful. His arms and shoulders were sturdy, and his stomach was flat. It wasn’t chiseled, as if someone sculpted him out of stone, but that was what Ian loved. Mickey’s skin was littered with freckles, hair uncooperative, and a gruff attitude which, coupled with his aggressive demeanor, made him unapproachable, but all his imperfections made him perfect.

“Take a picture, Gallagher,” Mickey teased at the ogling man, “it lasts longer.”

A blushed up Ian's neck. “Fuck off,” Ian chuckled, “can I not admire something aesthetically pleasing?”

“You can, and you can jerk off to it too,” his husband countered back.

“Why depend on my hand when I can have the real thing?” Their flirty conversation ceased when they heard the door open and the sight of the other Milkovich walking through it.

“Hey!” Mandy greeted enthusiastically, enveloping Ian with her slim arms. Ian hugged back. “Gross, you smell like sex.” She stepped back and turned to Mickey.

“That’s cause we fucked,” Mickey smiled and—willingly—opened his arms, an invitation for Mandy to hug. Mandy hugged her older brother, ignoring the pungent smell of sweat and cum, because this was one of the rare occasions that Mickey’s guards weren’t hoisted up high.

“Right, you’re both obsessed with each other,” she pulled back afterwards and eyed her brother’s neck littered with hickeys and love-bites. “Impressive.”

“That’s nothing,” Ian smirked while Mickey shifted uncomfortably at the hefty weight of his sister’s eyes on him.

“You can stop inspecting my fuckin’ hickeys now,” Mickey quipped brusquely. “I know that’s your area of expertise but it’s fucking weird so cut it out.”

Ah, there was the epigrammatic, snarky, aggressive brother that Mandy was familiar with.

 

***************

Svetlana arrived on the dot at their apartment, with Yevgeny in tow. Mandy was asleep and Mickey was at work, which left Ian to answer the door. When he opened the door, he greeted her with a friendly smile, only to get a steely gaze in return. Ian’s smile faded as he let her in.

“Ian!” Yevgeny beamed up at him. Yevgeny had been at the apartment numerous times after Ian’s first encounter with him, and Ian had grown attached to the little guy. Geno was vivacious; a ray of sunshine, just like his father behind closed doors. His big, green eyes now swirled with fragments of blue, shining with happiness. His hair was the colour of hay. He didn’t look like Mickey at first glance, but he had Mickey’s smile and eyebrow raise. His face was as expressive as Mickey’s, his pallid skin was specked with light brown flecks and his personality shone intensely, just like his father’s.

How could Ian not love him?

“Hey, little man,” Ian grinned, kneeling down. “You’re getting big and strong. Look at those biceps.” Geno giggled. He looked up at Svetlana, grin slowly fading away. He’d seen her twice before; the first time at Patsy’s when he first met Mickey, and at Fiona’s wedding. The first time, her gaze was stoic, but her tone had an edge to it—like she was repressing anger that threatened to snake up her throat and flow out of her lips. The second time, she was smiling, chartreuse eyes alive with happiness. She even chanced a smile at Ian.

Now, her moss eyes were dead of emotion—a look Ian would see in his own emerald eyes when he looked into the mirror before he met Mickey—and her expression was steely as well as bleak. However, she looked down at Ian with a quizzical expression. “You and Geno..?”

“He’s a great kid,” Ian complimented, “no reason not to like him.”

“There is reason.” The reason was unspoken, however it hung over them like a dark, dark cloud.

“That’s not Geno’s fault,” Ian argued, however he was internally foaming at the mouth at the thought of Geno’s conception.

“Tell your piece of shit husband that when you are not plugging his hole with your skin stick, yes?”

“Uh, sure.” Ian glanced down at Yevgeny.

“He will not understand,” the dead-eyed Russian said dismissively. “I will come in five days to pick Geno up. Is not a problem.” She gazed at Ian expectantly with dead eyes.

It took Ian a handful of seconds before he realized that she was asking Ian if Geno staying here for five days was a problem. “No, not at all,” Ian answered.

“Good.” Before she left, she gave Ian a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes; the smile looked like the facial muscles were pulled up by someone else—a puppeteer, if you will. It was a smile nonetheless. She left the apartment and Ian got up, locking the door and turned to Geno.

Geno was a strand of a web of problems that Terry orchestrated, which Mickey was wrapped up tightly in. He couldn’t help it; he couldn’t help the fact that his father either wanted to either cry or throw up at the sight of him. Yet he got caught up in this mess.

Ian’s nerves quivered with pity as anger constricted his chest, slowly snaking its way up to his throat. It was a nasty concoction of emotions.

“Let’s get you food,” he announced and swept the poor child, who was oblivious to the tornado of problems he was surrounded by, in his arms.

 

***************

“I don’t understand why you’re even involving yourself into this Maury Povich shit,” Lip commented. They were camped in the dingy, crimson coloured van, the inside of the vehicle plastered with posters of half-naked girls, and a crummy, lice-infested mattress behind them. They shared a cigarette, and Ian momentarily felt fifteen again; before he was married, worried about his husband’s rape-child, and didn’t have a personality made up of test pills.

“Cause I actually feel bad for the kid,” Ian countered, taking a drag. “I want to be the stable parent that he has.” The grey smoke billowed out of Ian’s mouth as he spoke.

“Yeah? For how long?”

“What?”

“For how long?” Lip repeated, “you’re iffy, man. Raising a kid’s gonna be hard, especially with the circumstances that you’re in. How long until you decide it’s too hard and give up?”

“I’m not gonna give up, asshole,” Ian replied curtly, “I’m not iffy anymore. I’ve been with the same man for over two years. That’s longer than all your ‘relationships’ combined.”

“Alright, Snarky,” Lip raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m gonna be snarky if you call me iffy.”

“Fine,” Lip sighed. “You’re in a pickle.”

“I am,” Ian nodded. Lip peered at his younger brother. Ian was always selfless, giving. He was temporarily the opposite of that, due to the fog of his bipolar. But the fog cleared with the help of his meds, and the boy that Lip grew up with was slowly making his return.

“Part of my point still stands,” Lip stated.

“Which part?”

“The part where I say that raising a kid is fucking hard, especially with the dilemma you’re in.”

“I know,” Ian repeated. “I’m gonna try, though. Kid’s gonna get what we never got growing up.”

“A chance to get out of Southside?” Lip partially jested.

“Sure,” Ian shrugged. “But what I meant by that was ‘parents who give a shit’.”

“Right,” Lip nodded. “Be better than Frank.”

“You’re tellin’ me to be sober and not an asshole?” Ian scoffed. “That’s easy.”

“You’re still a snarky asshole.”

“Fuck off.”


	13. Part 1

Mickey was always tense when Geno was visiting. His gruff attitude was amplified, acting as a thin veil to hide his fear and despair. Ian saw through the attitude; he knew that the intensity of Mickey’s abrasiveness depended on his mood.

Mickey didn’t know how to convey his feelings properly due to his father instilling the concept that showing emotions other than rage was a sign of fragility, and that hashing out a solution to a problem was “pussy shit” and the only solutions to any problem involved fists and—occasionally—weapons.

Mickey endured the iron-like fists landing on his frail skin as a child. But his body could only take so much, and he disintegrated into a pile of what was once a lively little boy, which left Terry to build him back up. Although what Terry created was a violent man whose body was littered with scars caused by his father. The violent man created a thick skin and intimidating demeanor to push anyone out that tried to get under it.

But Ian somehow managed to get under his skin, wedging himself in there and braced himself for the man to push him back out. Much to Ian’s bewilderment, he didn’t. Instead, he slowly melted into a pool of helpless liquid wax and Ian’s stomach churned with pity. His brain told him to get out, and that this wasn’t his mess to deal with, the instruction ricocheting in his head. His heart didn’t give him an order; it pleaded. _Help him,_ it feebly whispered.

Letting his heart take charge, he molded Mickey into a gentle, caring man, showing him that love is existent and providing him with copious amounts of it. Albeit, the shadow of the violent man still lingered in Mickey’s bones and would possess Mickey’s body whenever Mickey was upset.

The catalyst of the possession was Geno. Yet again, he was part of a tangle of a mess he did nothing to be a part of.

Ian was grateful that Mickey wasn’t following in the footsteps that Terry imprinted into his life when it came to a child’s upbringing, but hated that Mickey couldn’t even look at his own son for long without averting his gaze. Yet again, anger seemed to glut through Ian’s veins.

“Off to work,” Mickey announced, kissing the top of Ian’s head.

“When do you come home?” Ian inquired.

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” his husband grumbled. “You’ve been with me for two years, how fucking long will it take you to get that I don’t work fucking shifts like you do? I work whenever they need me to.”

“Right,” Ian responded, coolly, staring at his mug full of tea. “Sorry.” He knew that lashing out at people was Mickey’s coping mechanism, but that didn’t mean it hurt less when Ian was on the receiving end. His chest tightened uncomfortably.

He heard the sloe-haired man sigh. Ian’s mug was out of his sight momentarily as the older man stood between his legs. Mickey knelt down so they were eye to eye, and caressed Ian’s pallid cheek, thumb rubbing the skin. “I’ll be home as soon as possible, okay?” his tone was different; gentler. Mickey hated taking his anger out on Ian, because 1) Ian didn’t deserve being talked to like that, and 2) he looked like a kicked puppy afterwards.

“It’s alright,” Ian responded, “I’ll be fine.” He was looking anywhere but Mickey.

The shorter man got Ian’s attention by slotting their lips together, the kiss imparting everything he couldn’t force out of his mouth verbally. Ian got the message loud and clear because he reciprocated the kiss afterwards—even though the action was delayed—and weaved his fingers through obsidian black hair.

“Come home as soon as possible,” Ian said as Mickey peeled his lips off of Ian’s.

“Will do.” His husband got out from between Ian’s legs and walked out the door.

 

***************

****

Ian was too preoccupied with Mickey’s body and Geno to cram for his GED last minute, and when he took the test his hands were shaking slightly and his stomach churned uncomfortably. The restless feeling of anxiousness clogged Ian’s gullet, clamping his mouth shut.

The test was easier than expected and Ian proofread once, twice, three times before handing it in. Getting it over with did nothing to calm the tidal wave of nervousness at all, and Ian was still struggling to calm down when he did get out.

He trudged back to his work—which, as expected, Cunt didn’t let him take extra days off—and went to work. The diner was illuminated by the glow of the sun gliding in through the windows, and abstract art was painted over the heliotrope hue of the walls. The floor was marble, and it was the colour of beige. Chestnut brown round tables were placed so the spacious diner looked aesthetically pleasing. Everyone was smiling and cheery, which contrasted the way Ian felt. Ian wanted to curl up next to his husband in bed and talk about anything that comes to mind, only getting interrupted by the need to feel each other’s damp skin pressed against each other, or soft lips pressed against the skin while they let out hoarse whispers and low moans.

But life has a way of dangling what you want in your face tantalizingly, only to decide that it doesn’t want to be your bitch and tucks your desires away where you can’t reach them.

So Ian was here, greeting people with smiles that didn’t warm his eyes and tried to convince them that he’d rather be here taking orders and giving food to people than do anything else, but that was for a lost cause; the customer saw through his transparent smile and faux happiness.

“Ay,” Julian grinned, “Casper’s back in this hellhole after comin’ back from paradise.”

“Hello to you too,” Ian smiled. Even though the diner was shit, Julian wasn’t. He wasn’t stereotypically straight; he didn’t recoil at Ian’s companionable touch, neither did he think Ian wanted to fuck him. They were two dudes that were friends, and that was refreshing.

“Good to see you again, man,” Julian stated, “you’re the only tolerable person here.”

Ian put a hand on his chest. “I’m touched. Really.”

“You look like you’ve been more than touched,” Julian commented, eyeing the abundance of mouth-shaped bruises on his neck, looming against the sallow skin. “Looks like you’ve been ravaged by him. _Jesus._ ”

“Yeah, it was crazy,” Ian said vaguely. He didn’t want to talk to Julian about the copious amount of raunchy experiences he had with his husband, and he doubted Julian wanted to hear about Ian’s newfound kink of shoving a chain of rotund objects up Mickey’s ass, so he changed the subject. “What’s up with you?”

“What’s not up with me?” Julian sighed wearily, “my girl’s wearin’ me out.”

“Wearing you out?”

“Yeah.” Julian nodded. “Wants me to meet her family.”

“So?”

“ _So_ ,” Julian echoed, “it’s a big fucking deal.” Ian forgot how milestones in relationships, like meeting your partner’s family, made people’s stomachs drop to their toes. “And we’ve only been going out for half a year.”

“Just be yourself.”

“You mean, crack juvenile jokes and give them weird nicknames?”

“Exactly.” Ian grinned teasingly. “They’re gonna love you, man, don’t worry.” He clapped Julian’s back companionably before walking out of the kitchen.

“That’s what you call a pep talk?” Julian called out.

“I’m not good with words, let alone pep talks,” Ian answered back, and Julian replied with a middle finger. Ian chuckled to himself. _Fucking douchebag._

***************

Ian walked in on a sleeping Geno on the couch, and an aggravated, coal-haired man. “Hey.” His husband grunted a greeting. “It’s late, man, what are you doing up? Come to bed.”

“What, you my fucking mother now?” Ian would’ve come back with a quip—if Mickey was teasing. He’d be looking at the amber-haired man mischievously, the corners of his lips quirked upwards. That wasn’t the case this time. His mouth was a straight line and his sapphire eyes were refusing to meet Ian’s. He was shutting Ian out, pushing him away. _Don’t do this._

“No. I give a shit,” Ian replied, curb-stomping his silent pleas that were repeating inside his head like a mantra. _Please, don’t do this. Don't do this._

“I don’t need a fucking caretaker,” Mickey spat out.

Ian’s sadness morphed into irritation. “You know what? Fuck you. Stop acting like a fucking asshole to me when I didn’t do shit.”

“I’m going through a lot,” Mickey grumbled.

“Yeah? So am I.”

“You don’t have a fucking rape-baby to take care of,” Mickey sneered, “or have to deal with the woman that was forced onto you. You don’t have to go through every fuckin’ day dreading to come home because the fucking child that you have an obligation to take care of, your reminder of when your father hated you so much he’d rather hurt you, is at home.”

“You’re seriously comparing our fucking problems?” Ian scoffed. “Fuck you. Fuck me for trying to take care of you.” He shook his head. "And stop with making your kid seem disgusting. It's not his fault your father was a fag-bashing, rapist piece of shit."

“Mind your fucking business.” The response flew out of Mickey's mouth before he could stop the stem.

Ian stared at his husband, slack-jawed. “Go fuck yourself,” Ian managed to say, and grabbed his coat and boots, walking to the door.

“Fine, leave,” Mickey said after him. “The fuck do I care, bitch?” Ian walked out in a fit of anger, the weather nipping his pallid skin. His eyes filled with tears, due to the wind—or due to the painful constriction in his chest, he wasn't sure.

_You did it._


	14. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: lowkey angsty

Mickey did care. He could deny it all he wanted but he gave a shit. The apartment echoed with Ian’s laughter and shined with Ian’s smile, and Mickey’s chest constricted at the thought of the stupid redhead.

He was a horrible father, and a husband. He deserved to be alone, unloved, navigating through this dark world by himself.

His head was woozy and when he woke up, on the floor of the kitchen, clutching Ian’s jacket while beer cans were strewn around him. Mandy had Geno, and her head turned to where her brother slowly got to his feet, wiping the wet substance of drool from his cheek. “Ian.”

“He’s at his family’s place,” Mandy answered icily. “You’re an asshole.”

Mickey snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Why do you keep hurting Ian like this?” Mandy questioned.

“Ian told you, huh?”

“Of course he fucking did,” Mandy responded. “He’s done nothing but love you and you’re an asshole to him?”

“Newsflash; I’m an asshole to everyone,” Mickey grumbled.

“Even to your husband? Does he not mean anything to you?” Of course he fucking did. Ian was the one who loved him despite his fucked up self. Ian was what filled the void inside him, but now that he’s not here—thanks to Mickey—the void was gaping open, sucking out the life of Mickey. But Mickey couldn’t say that because his emotions were a body of water that was partially blocked by a dam he created years ago. And if he let the dam break, the water would rush out and flood everything in its path, and Mickey didn’t want to deal with the destruction of the aftermath.

So he shrugged and scowled at his little sister; because anger was what he resorted to when the dam was on the verge of breaking. Anger was what made the dam stronger.

His sister scowled back vindictively, because she wasn’t Ian, who’d desperately chip away at the paint that Mickey used to cover the cracks inside him. She wasn’t searching for a sign of vulnerability.

_Ian._

Fuck.

He never thought that a 3-lettered name that consisted of two syllables would be the favourite word that easily rolled out of his mouth, neither did he think that the vivacious, loving, caring owner would consume his body and bring him such joy.

“Is he okay?” Mickey asked while raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms.

“So you _do_ care.”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why do you keep hurting Ian?” They’ve made a full circle; somewhat. Mickey internally instructed—no, _begged_ —his eyes not to travel to the kid, but they betrayed him. “Right. Your vermin of a child.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey spat. “You have no room to judge. You know fuck all about what happened.”

“Then enlighten me.” And he wanted to; _God_ , he wanted to. But he choked on the words and his eyes blurred with tears. _Fucking pussy. Scared of your kid, scared of people getting too close, scared of everything._

“Fuck,” Mickey cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The word boomeranged around in his head. _Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared._

“What? Fucking enlighten me!” Mandy pressed. Anger like never before surged his veins and clawed up Mickey’s throat, lacing the bile-tasting words lodged in his throat with the newfound anger, and forcing it out of his mouth.

“I was raped!” Mickey exclaimed. “Terry forced Svetlana on me, and Yevgeny is the product of it! There! Happy now?” He hated how the first three words made him sound like a victim. He wasn’t a victim. He will not be victimized.

The anger blazing in his sister’s cerulean eyes transformed into sadness, guilt and pity. She looked like she was staring at broken pieces of Mickey, not the whole Mickey.

Which, technically, was what Mickey was. He wasn’t whole anymore; he was broken pieces scattered about. Sure, the pieces could be put back together, but no glue would be durable enough to make him whole permanently. Him being whole was ephemeral; he’d break apart at the softest of breezes.

Mickey averted Mandy’s gaze because he didn’t want to see pity in them. So he grabbed another beer, the early stages of a hangover slowly seeping into his head. He’d regret drinking more in the future, but that was for him to worry about later. For now, he let the cool, bitter taste replace the bile in his throat, and let his head get fuzzy.

 

***************

4 cans, about 500 voicemails to Ian’s phone, and four hours later, Ian wasn’t back home. Mickey was antsy. He paced the room while Mandy offered to take Geno to Casey’s. She still looked at Mickey pitifully—and knowingly—and Mickey would look away.

He contemplated calling again, but decided against it. If Ian wanted to talk, he’d call. So he picked up his phone and paused when he saw his wallpaper. It was of Ian beaming, eyes shining with happiness, with his feet in the sand of Jensen Beach. He looked beautiful, happy, lively. Mickey's eyes watered as he noticed he didn’t get a notification from his husband.

“Fuck!” In a fit of anger, he threw his phone against the wall. His inhales and exhales were heavy and his body thrummed with rage, making him feel woozier than before.

When the anger somewhat subsided he staggered to his wreck of a phone and sighed. He was going to need a new phone. And more beer.

As he was inspecting the wreckage he heard the door creak open and a lanky, bleary-eyed redhead walked in. “Where were you?” Mickey asked his husband, as relief washed over him. _You know where he was, dumb fuck._

Even with what happened, his heartbeat escalated and his chest tightened. Butterflies angrily fluttered in his stomach.

“At my siblings’ place,” Ian answered. He trudged to the fridge after peeling his outerwear off. Mickey watched him, gnawing on his lip. The alcohol stripped him of his capabilities to pretend to be okay, and he found himself walking quickly to his husband.

Mickey wrapped his arms around the redhead from behind and nuzzled his face in Ian’s back. The latter tensed up slightly. “Fuck, I’m fucked up, I know. I’m sorry. Just, please.. don’t leave me.”

Ian turned around to face Mickey. Mickey braced himself for the lecture he was going to get, and was surprised when Ian locked their lips together, hand cradling Mickey’s face. His surprise didn’t stop the kiss from being reciprocal, and soon enough they were in their room, door locked, fumbling fingers hurriedly peeling clothes off while tongues glided and twisted together. Mickey’s toes curled and his head spun as Ian pushed his naked form onto the bed.

Ian frantically grabbed the lube and ripped open the packet, lips still on Mickey’s, and slicked his long digits with lube. Mickey clung onto his husband, needing to feel the pallid, soft skin under his hands, needing to know that Ian was with him and tangible. Mickey kissed the redhead’s sharp jawline before moving onto the freckled neck, letting out a muffled hiss when he felt a stringy finger slide inside him.

Ian made quick work of opening Mickey up, prolonging the need to feel his cock fill Mickey up, flowing through Mickey’s head and pushing out any other thought that breached his mind. “I’m good, get in me.” He wrapped his legs around Ian’s narrow waist, the heel of his foot brushing gingerly against the back of Ian’s thigh.

Ian wasted no time in getting inside the sloe-haired man, both men moaning at the action. Mickey loved how Ian’s thick and long cock filled him up deliciously, loved the moans that leaked out of Ian’s mouth, loved the raw passion that they had in times like this.

“You take my cock so well, Mick,” Ian praised, while Mickey mouthed Ian’s freckled shoulder, the latter sucking on the older man’s neck, their chests pressed tightly against each other. Tattooed fingers weaved through auburn locks while the other hand was flat against Ian’s sturdy back. The harsh feeling of teeth scraped against Mickey’s neck, immediately replaced by a rough, wet tongue.

Ian lifted his head to instigate a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss, which was mostly tongue than anything else. Ian hit Mickey’s prostate, causing stupid fucking whines and moans to flow out of Mickey’s mouth. “Fuck, right there,” Mickey managed to choke out, and both men climaxed, Ian’s name on Mickey’s lips and Mickey’s name on Ian’s.

The lanky redhead laid on Mickey. If it was anyone else Mickey would tell them to get the fuck off of him. But this was Ian; Ian with the vibrant amber hair that Mickey’s fingers ached to touch and the emerald green eyes with specks of golden littered in them, glistening with happiness and love that Mickey was cruelly deprived of ever since he sucked in his first breath.

Ian with the scarred, rough hand which Mickey loved holding because despite being ragged and a subject Ian shies away from, Mickey saw those scars as a reminder of how Ian propelled through his fogged, scrambled brain and slowly put himself together. And that’s what makes Ian strong as steel to Mickey.

So he let Ian stay because as selfish as it may be, he needed Ian’s presence with him, because Ian makes Mickey feel whole in a way that he’s never felt whole before. The void in him closed around Ian, and it stayed closed, but ripped wide open when Ian wasn’t home.

So he let Ian lay on him like a dead weight, and he was comforted by the clammy skin against his, Ian’s ever-so-lightly skim his fingers over Mickey, and the eyelashes that lightly tickled Mickey every time Ian blinked. His skin tingled whenever his husband turned to press a kiss against it, etching silent promises against the pale skin permanently, as permanent as Ian’s name tattooed onto Mickey’s skin.

He let Ian stay, and Ian did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna add more but i've literally run out of ideas. so i guess this is the last chapter of this series. thank you all for reading and leaving kudos!! love you all.
> 
> \- Gaylagher


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